<o 


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OE  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


RALPH   BRAKESPEARE  STRODE  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW   INTO 
THE  FIRELIGHT 

(Frontispiece) 


THE  EORTUNES 
OE  A  EREE-LANCE 


BRRKESPEERE 


BY 


Hlfred  6.  Lawrence 


ILLUSTRATED 


AKRON,   OHIO 

THE  SAALFIELD  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  1904  CHICAGO 


COPYRIGHT,  1904 

THE 
SAALFIELD  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


THE   WERNER   COMPANY 
.  AKRON,    OHIO 


CHAPTER  I. 

INTRODUCTION. 

Before  attempting  to  follow  our  hero  through  his 
many  and  strange  adventures,  a  transient  survey  of  the 
history  of  the  fourteenth  century  will  enable  the  reader 
to  gain  a  clearer  idea  of  conditions,  social  and  political, 
which  made  possible  the  events  and  characters  of  the  fol- 
lowing story.  To  form  a  just  estimate  of  occurrences, 
it  is  necessary  to  have  some  knowledge  of  the  wars  and 
treaties,  factions  and  intrigues  of  that  particular  period. 
To  acquire  the  point  of  view  of  its  people,  it  is  necessary 
to  know  something  of  their  environment. 

About  this  time  the  young  king  of  England,  Edward 
III.,  had  shut  up  his  mother  in  genteel  confinement ; 
killed  her  lover ;  and,  disposing  in  one  way  or  another  of 
all  those  who  inconveniently  blocked  his  way,  became 
king  in  earnest.  His  first  effort  was  northward  and  he 
set  to  work  to  quell  his  Scottish  neighbor.  In  this 
he  met  with  signal  success ;  but  disdained  to  be  content 
with  such  a  trivial  conquest. 

Across  the  channel  was  a  kingdom  far  richer  and 
more  worth  the  trouble  of  conquering;  so  to  France  he 
sailed,  pretending  a  claim  to  that  throne  through  his 
mother,  Isabella.  In  reality  he  had  not  the  slightest 
claim,  but  that  mattered  little  or  not  at  all  in  those  days. 
The  barons,  with  that  pernicious  love  of  warfare  that 
characterized  the  times,  were  ready  and  willing  to  make 
their  sovereign's  cause  their  own,  however  unjust  or 
preposterous  it  might  be ;  and  France  was  invaded — with 

2131159 


8  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

the  result,  however,  of  doing  little  else  than  run  up  a  bill 
of  300,000  pounds.  The  next  year  the  English  king  did 
better.  And  thereby  hangs  a  mystery. 

France  at  the  opening  of  the  fourteenth  century  was 
an  extended,  compact  kingdom,  filled  with  great  and 
guarded  cities ;  with  such  unbounded  resources  and  such 
a  mettled  nobility  that  its  conquest  seemed  the  most  ex- 
travagant dream — the  merest  chimera.  The  cause  of 
that  downfall  it  is  not  our  province  to  relate.  Suffice  it 
to  say  that  in  twenty  years  this  mighty  nation  was  dis- 
membered and  reduced  to  utter  exhaustion. 

No  war  has  ever  broken  out  in  Europe  so  memorable 
as  that  of  Edward  and  his  successors  against  France,  it 
matters  not  from  what  point  of  view  we  consider  it. 
For  one  hundred  and  twenty  weary  years  the  struggle 
raged,  and  during  that  time  the  most  coveted  prize  in  the 
civilized  world  was  twice  lost  and  twice  recovered  to  the 
English.  In  the  month  of  July,  1346,  Edward  III.  and 
the  Prince  of  Wales  won  the  great  battle  of  Creqy.  This 
was  followed  by  the  memorable  siege  of  Calais.  Ten 
years  later,  on  a  certain  day  in  September,  1356,  French 
chivalry  was  dealt  the  blow  from  which  it  never  recovered. 
At  the  Battle  of  Poitiers  one  thousand  English  bowmen 
mowed  down  the  vast  and  gallant  host  of  the  enemy,  and 
King  John  with  his  young  son  was  taken  prisoner. 

After  that  day  of  destruction  there  was  little  of  calam- 
ity and  possible  misery  that  did  not  afflict  France.  A 
foe  in  the  very  heart  of  her  kingdom,  her  king  a  prisoner, 
her  peasants  mad  with  misery;  she  was  pillaged  by 
roving  companies  of  disbanded  soldiers,  stalked  by 
famine.  To  render  confusion  worse  confounded,  the 
plague — the  most  merciless  of  which  we  have  any  rec- 
ord— came  hurrying  from  the  heart  of  China,  swept  over 
Europe,  and  fell  upon  those  whom  war  had  spared.  The 
pestilence  brought  a  quietus,  but  it  was  not  for  long. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  9 

War  by  this  time  had  become  a  source  of  livelihood;  a 
thirst  for  military  renown  had  grown  chronic.  Genera- 
tions were  born  in  war,  reared  in  the  environments  of 
war,  educated  for  war,  and  knew  little  else. 

Men  of  martial  desert  rose  high  and  quickly  in  those 
troublesome  times;  every  success  in  battle,  every  daring 
exploit,  was  rewarded  with  promotion.  To  many  a 
younger  son,  whose  share  in  the  paternal  estate  was  but 
slender,  knighthood  became  the  goal  and  ambition.  He 
might  win  his  spurs  through  valor  if  he  could  not  claim 
them  through  station.  The  rank  was  considered  to  be- 
long not  to  territory  and  wealth  but  to  him  who  by 
heroic  achievement  could  challenge  it  through  merit. 

Considered  as  a  state  of  society  the  fourteenth  century 
was  barbarous  through  ignorance,  poverty,  and  want 
of  refinement.  It  was  a  witless  age,  an  unscrupulous  age, 
an  age  of  unlettered  knights  and  rude  barons,  an  age  of 
lawlessness  unchecked.  Religion  had  lost  almost  every 
quality  which  renders  it  of  service  to  mankind  or  con- 
ducive to  the  good  of  society.  Judicial  and  legislative 
edicts  were  still  less  efficacious.  The  moral  barometer 
stood  at  an  entirely  different  altitude  from  what  we  are 
wont  to  consider  a  requisite  standard.  A  degree  of 
ferocity  and  cruelty  was  inevitably  bred,  even  among 
those  of  gentlest  birth,  by  hostilities  and  lawlessness. 
A  depravity  and  dissoluteness  existed  in  the  relation  be- 
tween men  and  women  that  is  scarcely  realizable ;  and 
what  passed  without  question  as  gallantry  was  nothing 
less  than  unchastity.  Yet  in  one  respect  at  least,  if  we 
can  forget  the  wretchedness  that  fell  upon  an  ancient 
kingdom  and  the  misery  of  the  great  mass  of  the  people — 
too  heavy  a  price  to  pay  for  any  valor — it  is  one  of  the 
brightest  periods  in  history — these  opening  years  of  the 
French  and  English  wars.  Chivalry  was  at  its  zenith. 
The  knights  of  both  kingdoms  fought  in  the  conflict  as 


io  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

at  a  tournament  and  bore  on  their  armor  the  insignia  of 
their  mistresses.  Adorned  with  all  the  virtues  of  the 
chivalric  character,  none  were  more  worthy  to  be  called 
"the  prowess  knights  in  all  Europe"  than  Edward  III. 
and  his  son,  the  Black  Prince.  And  in  the  schools  of  the 
French  and  English  kings  were  found  men  not  at  all  in- 
ferior in  any  nobleness  to  their  masters. 

It  is  among  these  tempestuous  years  that  our  story  has 
its  setting.  It  was  this  uproarious  state  of  society  that 
brought  into  existence  the  class  of  adventurers  to  which, 
our  hero  belongs.  For  at  this  time  the  Free  Companies 
or  Free  Lances  laid  the  foundation  of  their  evil  renown. 

Both  parties  in  the  war  employed  mercenary  troops ; 
and  these  adventurers — containing  among  their  number 
many  who  boasted  the  gentlest  blood  of  France  and 
England — flocked  from  one  standard  to  another,  indif- 
ferent to  the  cause  they  supported.  Soldiers  of  fortune, 
with  but  their  lance  and  charger  as  an  inheritance,  passed 
from  one  service  to  another  without  regret  and  without 
dishonor.  The  highest  pay  and  the  richest  plunder  were 
their  incentive.  Their  services  were  anxiously  solicited 
and  abundantly  repaid.  There  was  no  labor  so  re- 
munerative as  that  of  the  sword.  If  by  chance  peace 
happened  to  prevail,  these  mercenaries,  unwilling  to  re- 
linquish arms  and  to  be  thrown  out  of  occupation,  united 
themselves  under  the  command  of  leaders — many  of  them 
military  geniuses  of  renown — and  roved,  fought,  and 
plundered  at  will.  This  was  the  beginning  of  those  com- 
panies of  disciplined  bandits  which  later  on  became  the 
scourge  and  disgrace  of  Europe.  In  1353  there  appeared 
a  formidable  band  swollen  to  the  size  of  an  army  which 
was  known  as  the  Great  Company.  The  rich  cities  paid 
vast  sums  of  money  to  their  leaders  in  order  that  these 
brigands,  who  were  forever  on  the  move,  might  not  pass 
through  their  territory. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  n 

In  conclusion,  a  word  about  Sir  John  Hawkwood.  Few 
if  any  leader  of  these  companies  of  adventure  acquired 
such  fame  as  he.  Bred  a  tailor,  he  hewed  his  way 
through  the  fortunes  of  war  to  renown,  and  obtained  his 
knighthood  from  Edward  III.  He  became  eventually 
the  commander  of  the  famous  White  Company.  Hawk- 
wood  was  easily  the  greatest  of  the  foreign  condottieri 
who  distinguished  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries. 

This  survey,  though  far  from  comprehensive,  is  so 
through  intention;  nor  is  more  necessary.  The  Dark 
Ages,  so  denominated,  and  especially  the  Hundred  Years 
War,  hold  too  much  of  fascination  to  be  neglected  by 
even  the  most  superficial  student. 


R 


CHAPTER  II. 

TWENTY    YEARS    BACK.  .... 

IGHT  in  the  shadow  of  the  wooded  hills  that 
fringed  the  border  of  the  Kentish  Weald, 
stood  the  ancient  castle  of  Bever — so  ancient, 
that,  before  the  thirteen  hundredth  year  of 
Grace,  it  had  begun  to  show  signs  of  decay ;  crevices  bare 
of  mortar  gave  rare  holding  ground  for  moss  and  wild- 
flower,  and  the  coigns  where  wind  and  weather  beat 
sharpest  had  already  moldered. 

Moreover,  it  had  the  evil  chance  to  be  sacked  and 
burned  in  two  Civil  Wars.  After  the  first  of  these  dis- 
asters it  was  partly  restored ;  but  in  the  second,  min- 
ing-powder helped  fire  and  battering  train,  and  the  work 
was  so  thoroughly  done,  that  scarce  a  semblance  of  the 
dwelling  was  left  among  uncouth  heaps  of  rent,  blackened 
stone.  No  wonder  that  Dynevor,  coming  to  his  own 
again,  should  turn  aside  from  the  unlucky  site  and  choose 
to  build  a  more  modest  mansion  on  the  nearest  hill-spur, 
where  he  found  a  fairer  prospect  and  healthier  air.  Long 
after  that,  the  country-folk  came  to  the  spot,  as  to  a 
quarry,  for  such  rude  repairs  as  needed  not  fresh  mason- 
work;  and  the  ruins  that  were  left  crumbled  fast  under 
their  dank  shroud  of  ivy  and  lichen,  till  at  last  the 
sward  closed  smoothly  over  all.  Fifty  years  ago,  a  care- 
less wayfarer  might  have  passed  by,  without  ever  no- 
ticing the  low,  broad  mounds  swelling  over  the  founda- 
tions of  flanking  tower,  barbican,  and  keep,  and  the  faint 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  13 

irregular  hollow  that  traces  the  circuit  of  the  castle-ditch. 
Nevertheless,  the  husbandman  guesses  that  there  is 
masonry  enough,  not  a  cubit  below  the  sod,  to  turn  the 
edge  of  the  stoutest  plough-share ;  and  the  antiquary — 
witting  well  that  with  this  spot  neither  Briton,  Roman, 
nor  Anglo-Saxon  has  had  aught  to  do — cares  not  to  delve 
in  soil  barren  of  treasure-trove  in  clay,  metal,  or  bone. 
So  the  old  pasturage  remains  unbroken ;  neither  is  it  like- 
ly that  for  many  a  year  the  South  Down  wethers  will  be 
troubled  in  their  enjoyment  of  the  short,  sweet  herbage 
on  which  they  thrive  so  marvelously. 

But  it  was  a  fair  castle  enough  in  its  day — over-large, 
in  truth,  for  the  demesnes  which  were  in  appanage ;  and 
these  had  been  greatly  narrowed  early  in  the  fourteenth 
century  by  the  grant  of  lands  made  by  Sir  Giles  Dynevor 
to  the  Cistercian  Abbey  of  Haultvaux. 

The  causes  of  which  munificence,  and  other  matters 
pertaining  to  this  tale,  shall  now  be  set  forth. 

Men  of  a  certain  mold  must  needs  leave  their  mark  on 
their  time,  even  if  they  achieve  therein  no  great  dignity 
or  honor ;  and  the  cool,  crafty  schemer  is  most  dangerous 
in  an  age  where  rapine  by  the  strong  hand  prevails,  and 
the  mass  have  neither  patience  to  wait,  nor  providence  to 
plan.  Such  an  one  was  Giles  Dynevor.  Violent,  sensual, 
and  rapacious  by  nature — he  kept  anger,  lust,  and  covet- 
ousness  in  fetters,  till  it  was  safe  or  profitable  to  let  them 
loose ;  and,  though  his  favorite  sin  was  avarice,  he  would 
scatter  gold  broadcast  without  murmur  or  regret,  if  there- 
by he  hoped  to  compass  some  end  worthy  the  cost.  He 
was  possessed  of  that  thorough-going  ambition  which  is 
not  devoid  of  simple  unselfish  grandeur,  insomuch  that  it 
aims  rather  at  the  advancement  of  posterity  than  at  profit, 
private  and  personal ;  for  oftentimes  the  schemer  can  no 
more  hope  to  reap  the  ripe  fruit  of  his  policy  than  the 
planter  of  an  acorn  could  hope  to  sit  under  the  full  shadow 


I4  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

of  the  oak.  Nevertheless,  he  throve  not  after  the  measure 
of  his  merits ;  and,  when  long  past  middle  age,  his  ad- 
vancement would  have  fallen  far  short  of  his  desires,  had 
they  been  tenfold  more  moderate.  Nor  would  the  causes 
of  this  ill-fortune  be  hard  to  find ;  though  Dynevor,  with 
all  his  subtlety,  perceived  them  not.  The  very  qualities 
that  might  reasonably  have  made  him  powerful,  made  him 
both  misliked  and  mistrusted.  The  rude  barons  and  un- 
lettered knights,  that  were  his  fellows,  felt  that  there  was 
one  in  the  midst  of  them  whose  thoughts  were  not  as 
their  thoughts,  and  shrank  from  the  quiet,  taciturn,  clerky 
plotter  as  they  would  have  shrunk  from  an  intruder  of 
alien  blood.  Few  cared  openly  to  avoid  his  company, 
much  less  to  provoke  his  enmity ;  but  none  cared  to  court 
his  friendship ;  and  many  would  have  been  well  pleased 
to  thwart  his  purpose,  even  though  it  clashed  not  with 
their  own. 

To  this  dislike,  covert  or  avowed,  there  was  one  singu- 
lar exception.  Ivo  Malpas  and  Giles  Dynevor  had  been 
not  alone  neighbors,  but  sworn  companions,  from  boy- 
hood upward.  They  had  followed  the  chase  through  the 
same  woods;  had  caroused  at  the  same  table  when  the 
hunting  was  done;  and,  if  all  the  tales  were  true,  had 
wrought  more  evil  deeds  in  common  than  need  be  re- 
corded here. 

In  public  quarrel  or  in  private  feud  these  two  had  ever 
espoused  the  same  cause ;  and  their  vassals  fought,  natur- 
ally, side  by  side,  when  the  battle  was  set  in  array.  Once, 
in  the  Scots  wars,  when  Malpas  had  blundered  into  an 
ambush,  like  a  wild  bull  into  the  toils,  Dynevor  had  rid- 
den in  gallantly  to  the  rescue,  and  brought  off  his  brother- 
in-arms  scathless,  at  the  cost  of  a  shrewd  lance-thrust  in 
his  own  side ;  for  the  Black  Douglas,  though  overmatched, 
gave  ground  slowly  and  sullenly,  turning,  every  now  and 
then,  to  gore. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  15 

In  all  this  close  companionship  it  would  have  been 
strange  indeed  had  the  weaker  nature  not  been  enslaved 
by  the  stronger;  and  Ivo  Malpas  was  noted  for  witless- 
ness,  in  a  witless  age.  Moreover,  he  was  given  to  strong 
drinks,  to  an  extent  rare  among  the  Normans,  who 
despised  drunkenness  as  a  vice  of  a  conquered  people. 
As  time  passed  on,  the  subjection  grew  more  complete, 
till  at  last  Ivo  was  no  more  a  free  agent  than  if  he  had 
been  born  a  villein  on  the  fief  of  Bever.  Two  solitary 
virtues,  honesty  and  courage,  abode  with  him  still ;  but, 
in  despite  of  these,  he  would  have  turned  his  hand  to  any 
work,  howsoever  base  or  cruel,  had  his  comrade  so 
willed  it. 

It  may  be  that  Giles  Dynevor  liked  the  poor,  faithful 
sot,  as  much  as  it  was  in  his  nature  to  like  any  living 
being  not  of  his  own  blood.  Yet,  had  it  served  his  ends, 
he  would  scarcely  have  scrupled  to  mix  for  the  other 
such  a  posset  as  should  have  made  his  slumbers  last  till 
the  judgment  day.  Through  long  years  Dynevor  had 
kept  one  purpose  steadily  in  view ;  and  matters  had  not 
yet  come  to  the  point  where  Ivo's  death  could  profit  any 
one.  , 

That  purpose  was — the  alliance  of  their  several  houses. 

For  many  roods  their  lands  marched  together ;  but,  at  a 
certain  angle  where  the  boundary  stream  trended  east- 
ward, the  fief  of  Dynevor  ended,  while  that  of  Malpas 
stretched  its  fertile  length  a  full  league  beyond  his  neigh- 
bor's landmark.  Sir  Giles  could  scarce  remember  the 
time,  when  he  first  cast  covetous  eyes  on  the  broad  in- 
heritance that  seemed  to  dwarf,  by  contrast,  his  own  do- 
main. Certainly,  before  boyhood  ended,  he  had  sworn 
to  attach  it  to  himself  by  fair  means  or  foul.  For  a  while, 
the  course  of  events  seemed  to  run  strangely  in  unison 
with  his  design. 

After  the  birth  of  one  son  his  own  marriage-bed  was 


16  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

barren;  and,  of  four  born  to  Ivo  Malpas,  one  daughter 
only  remained,  some  years  younger  than  Dynevor's  heir. 
True  it  was,  that  at  the  death  of  its  lord  without  issue, 
the  fief  of  Tyringham  would  revert  to  its  suzerain.  But, 
for  years  to  come,  the  crown  must  needs  be  worn  by  a 
driveler,  or  an  infant ;  and  Sir  Giles  had  faith  enough  in 
his  own  sagacity  and  knowledge  of  court  tides,  not  to  fear 
the  result.  The  husband  of  Malpas'  only  daughter,  being 
of  suitable  degree,  might  reasonably  ask  for  the  renewal 
of  her  father's  seizin ;  and,  by  the  time  it  was  wanted, 
there  should  be  gold  enough  in  the  family  coffers  to 
secure  the  intercession  of  any  favorite  by  glutting  his 
greed.  So,  let  Ivo  only  live  till  the  night  of  the  day  that 
should  make  their  houses  one.  Afterward — 

At  this  stage  in  his  musings,  Sir  Giles'  cruel  face  would 
harden  and  darken.  Of  a  surety  he  did  not  reckon  on  his 
friend's  enjoying  great  length  of  days. 

Before  Edith  Malpas  was  well  into  her  teens,  she  was 
solemnly  betrothed  to  Simon  Dynevor ;  and  the  plighting, 
by  proxy,  of  hand  and  glove  was  celebrated  at  Tyring- 
ham by  a  mighty  carouse,  whence  the  lord  of  the  castle 
was  borne  senseless  to  his  couch,  whilst  the  other  con- 
tracting party  walked  slowly  and  steadily  to  his  chamber, 
where  he  sat  pondering  late  into  the  night. 

The  affianced  pair  grew  up  through  boyhood  and  girl- 
hood, meeting  very  seldom.  Neither  did  this  rare  inter- 
course ripen  their  liking.  The  damsel  was  anything  but 
pleasant  to  look  upon ;  being,  in  truth,  somewhat  de- 
formed in  shape,  and  afflicted  almost  from  her  birth  with 
fits  of  the  falling-sickness.  Of  these  defects,  when  he 
sent  his  son  a-wooing,  Sir  Giles  made  account  of  no  more 
than,  in  choosing  a  war-horse,  he  would  have  objected  to 
a  coarse  neck  or  heavy  crest,  where  all  other  points  were 
perfect.  In  bare  justice  to  him  it  should  be  averred,  that 
he  would  not  have  been  a  whit  more  delicate  had  the  case 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  17 

been  his  own.  The  broad  lands  of  Tyringham  must  needs 
be  taken  with  an  encumbrance ;  and  he  would  as  lief  have 
laid  down  the  burden  on  his  own  shoulders  as  on  those 
of  his  heir.  But  Dame  Alice  Dynevor  cared  for  her 
body's  health  no  less  than  for  her  soul's ;  and  showed  no 
signs  of  presently  quitting  the  world  whose  sins  she  was 
ever  bewailing.  So,  since  better  might  not  be,  he  pre- 
pared to  sacrifice  his  first-born  calmly — if  not  complacent- 
ly— as  many  fathers,  pagan,  Hebrew,  and  Christian,  have 
done  before  and  since  his  time. 

Now,  though  all  the  surface  looked  placid  and  pros- 
perous enough,  there  was  an  undercurrent  fraught  with 
danger  and  wreck  to  these  politic  plans.  Though  he  in- 
herited not  his  sire's  ruthless  strength  of  will,  there  was 
in  Simon  Dynevor  a  slow  sullen  obstinacy,  prompting 
him  to  run  counter  to  the  bidding  of  any  authority  what- 
soever, so  long  as  he  risked  not  open  revolt.  Having 
no  ambition  and  but  a  moderate  share  of  avarice,  he  held 
that  the  fief  of  Bever  might  well  suffice  his  needs,  as  it 
had  hitherto  sufficed  his  father's ;  and  cared  not  to  pay 
with  his  body  for  the  acquirement  of  wealth  and  power 
that  he  wist  not  how  to  use,  or  for  possible  advancement 
to  baron's  degree. 

He  had  conceived  an  aversion  for  his  child-betrothed 
from  the  first  moment  he  heard  her  shrill,  querulous  voice, 
and  set  eyes  on  her  white,  pain-stricken  face  and  mis- 
shapen figure.  As  the  days  drew  on,  this  deepened  into 
somewhat  nearly  akin  to  loathing ;  and  the  unseen  fetter 
galled  him  more  and  more  sorely.  When  he  was  of  age 
to  ride  in  his  father's  train  to  distant  jousts,  or  other  con- 
gresses of  knights  and  barons,  it  was  strange  to  see  how 
his  mood  would  change  and  lighten  when  once  fairly 
out  of  sight  of  the  watch-tower  of  Tyringham,  which  was 
a  landmark  for  leagues  around.  By  the  time  they  reached 
their  journey's  end,  Simon  was  ready  to  join  in  revel 


i8  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

or  mischief  with  as  keen  a  relish  as  the  maddest  esquire  of 
them  all ;  albeit  there  was  ever  a  certain  f everishness  in 
his  mirth.  When  they  turned  bridle  again,  the  cloud 
settled  down  faster  than  it  had  lifted;  and  there  passed 
in  over  the  drawbridge  of  Bever  the  same  sullen,  silent 
youth  that  had  ridden  forth  a  week  agone. 

When  the  lords  of  the  Western  Marches  rose  up  in  re- 
volt, Dynevor  went  not  forth  with  Lancaster  and  his 
compeers.  Further,  he  prevailed  on  Malpas  to  bide 
quietly  at  home.  Not  without  difficulty — for  that  brain- 
less knight  could  never  hear  of  brawl  or  battle  without 
coveting  his  share  in  blows  and  plunder.  During  their 
brief  success,  Sir  Giles  never  once  repented  himself  of 
his  caution,  neither  did  he  deign  to  answer  his  comrade's 
repeated  grumblings.  But,  after  the  disaster  at  Borough- 
bridge,  when  the  best  blood  in  England  was  flowing  under 
the  doomster's  knife,  said  Dynevor  with  his  surly  smile: 

"Owest  me  no  thanks  for  again  saving  that  big  carcase 
of  thine?  This  last  was  a  better  turn  than  when  I 
plucked  thee  out  of  Black  James's  grip.  Were  it  not  for 
me,  thou  wouldst  be  feeding  crows  on  the  same  gibbet 
with  yonder  wittol  of  Badlesmere." 

To  all  this  Ivo  gave  ready  assent,  and  thenceforth  be- 
lieved more  helplessly  than  ever  in  the  other's  foresight 
and  sagacity. 

So  the  time  for  the  fulfilment  of  the  contract  grew 
nearer  and  nearer,  till  the  espousals  were  fixed  for  Edith's 
sixteenth  birthday.  It  was  in  the  year  that  brought  a 
weak  and  wicked  reign  to  a  shameful  ending — the  year 
that  saw  a  long  debt  fairly  paid,  when  Isabella  and  her 
liegemen  gave  monarch  and  minion  quittance  in  full. 

Ere  this,  another  feeling  besides  aversion,  was  at  work 
in  Simon  Dynevor's  breast,  which  resulted  in  the  wreck 
of  his  sire's  politic  plans  and  a  sorry  narrowing  of  the 
fair  demesne  which  stretched  its  fertile  length  so  many 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANOE.  19 

roods — a  worthy  appanage  of  the  noble  castle  of  Bever. 
Fate,  working  through  one  of  those  fragile  instruments  in 
which  she  ever  delights,  was  laying  her  hand  heavily  on 
the  Lord  of  Dynevor. 

Life  was  a  feeble  tenure  at  best  during  those  troublous 
times.  Bereft  by  the  sombre  chances  of  war  of  guardians 
and  defenders,  many  noble  dames  and  demoiselles  sought 
safe  and  honorable  asylums  within  the  castle  walls  of 
friends  more  fortunate,  or  refuge  was  found  with  the 
families  of  noblemen  esteemed  for  their  piety  and  cour- 
tesy. By  the  same  token  many  discreet  and  pious  ladies, 
even  of  no  great  estate,  were  wont  to  take  under  their 
charge  one  or  more  damsels  of  gentle  birth,  whom  death 
or  other  chance  had  deprived  of  their  natural  protectors, 
for  the  purpose  of  educating  them  till  they  should  be 
sought  in  marriage ;  such  education  being  in  most  cases 
confined  to  perpetual  practise  of  tapestry  work,  and  the 
hearing  of  homilies  and  saintly  legends,  read  aloud  by  the 
chapellan  of  the  castle. 

Maude  Warenne's  father  was  but  a  poor  knight-bache- 
lor ;  and  spent  well-nigh  all  the  remains  of  his  worldly 
estate  in  the  furnishing  of  a  small  clump  of  lances,  when 
the  King  set  forth  for  his  last  Scottish  War ;  hoping, 
doubtless,  to  recoup  himself  by  ransom  of  prisoners,  if 
not  by  plunder.  But  by  that  ill-fated  armament  neither 
wealth  nor  fame  was  to  be  won.  When  Michael  Warenne 
died  gallantly  in  his  harness  at  Bannockburn — covering 
the  flight  of  the  monarch  who  knew  him  not  by  name — he 
left  his  orphan  child  nearly  a  beggar. 

Dame  Alice  Dynevor  was  a  somewhat  distant  cousin ; 
nevertheless  Sir  Giles  made  no  objection  when  his  wife 
proposed  to  take  the  maiden  in  charge.  The  hangings  in 
the  great  presence-chamber  sorely  wanted  renewing ;  and, 
for  some  few  years  to  come,  a  deft  worker  in  tapestry 
might  be  well  worth  clothing  and  maintenance. 


20  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

Maude  Warennc  was  a  fair,  delicate  girl — fair  enough, 
at  least,  to  draw  to  herself  whatsoever  of  heart  the  heir 
of  Dynevor  had  to  spare.  It  was  the  old  story  over  again 
that  never  lacks  a  new  phase — the  story  of  the  Labyrinth 
as  ancient  as  Time,  wherein  any  one  of  ten  thousand 
thousand  paths  may  lead  to  the  same  fatal  goal.  Dame 
Alice,  albeit  the  austerest  and  most  vigilant  of  matrons — 
like  other  dragons — saw  no  danger  in  her  own  brood ; 
and  set  little  check  on  the  companionship  of  those  two. 
Simon  Dynevor  grew  wondrously  duteous  in  attendance 
of  his  mother,  and  fond  of  listening  to  the  chapellan's 
long-winded  readings.  Then,  there  xrame  about  meetings 
— brief  at  first,  and  seemingly  by  chance ;  soon  of  design, 
and  perilously  prolonged,  in  some  lonely  echoing  corridor, 
through  which  few  of  the  household  would  have  cared 
to  pass  alone  after  nightfall ;  then,  stolen  trysts  by  moon- 
light in  some  shady  nook  of  the  castle-garden.  One  morn- 
ing, just  a  month  before  the  day  for  which  the  Malpas 
espousals  were  set,  those  two  strolled  forth  into  the 
plaisance  beyond  the  barbican,  innocently  enough;  but 
they  came  not  back  to  the  nooning;  and,  before  vespers, 
all  at  Bever  wist  that  they  had  fled  together. 

When  Sir  Giles  returned — he  had  ridden  forth  to  a 
neighboring  town  soon  after  dawn — he  found  his  house- 
hold in  great  turmoil ;  and  Dame  Alice  ill  at  ease,  tended 
only  by  her  bower-woman  and  mediciner.  That  imperious 
lady  stood  in  mortal  fear  of  her  husband,  albeit  her  worst 
treatment  at  his  hands  had  been  cold  neglect,  varied  by 
some  brutal  jest  or  savage  sneer;  and  she  preferred  that 
he  should  hear  bad  tidings  from  any  other  mouth  than 
hers.  But  Dynevor  received  them  with  singular  calm- 
ness, only  grumbling  under  his  breath. 

"A  murrain  on  the  hot-blooded  fool !  Could  he  not 
have  waited  for  his  leman  till  he  was  wifed  ?" 

He  thought  his   son  was  but  repeating  one  of  the 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  21 

profligate  adventures  for  which  his  own  youth  and  early 
manhood  had  been  evilly  renowned ;  and  guessed  that  the 
seducer  would  not  tarry  long  with  his  victim  after  his 
fancy  was  sated.  Also,  he  knew  that  Ivo  Malpas  would 
be  more  like  to  laugh  than  be  wroth  at  such  a  freak  of 
his  future  son-in-law ;  and  that  the  child-bride — even  if  it 
came  to  her  ears — would  not  dare  to  murmur.  So  that  the 
espousals  need  not  necessarily  be  deferred.  The  good 
knight  had  ever  a  politic  horror  of  open  scandal  or  up- 
roar; wherefore  he  caused  no  hue  and  cry  to  be  made 
after  the  truants,  and  for  a  while  seemed  content  to  let 
things  bide. 

But,  on  the  fifth  evening,  one  of  Dynevor's  foresters, 
coming  homeward  through  the  twilight,  was  accosted 
about  a  league  from  the  castle  by  a  stranger  of  mean  ex- 
terior, who  thrust  into  his  hand  a  sealed  packet,  with 
charge  to  deliver  it  instantly  to  his  lord ;  and  then  dived 
into  the  woodland  without  abiding  question. 

The  missive,  penned  by  Simon  Dynevor  himself — the 
youth  had  no  mean  clerkly  skill — was  simple  enough.  It 
told  of  his  marriage  to  Maude  Warenne  according  to  the 
rites  of  Holy  Church ;  besought  his  father's  forgiveness ; 
and,  further,  prayed  that  answer  should  be  sent  to  the 
house  of  a  certain  obscure  scrivener  dwelling  in  the  bor- 
ough of  Southwark. 

When  Sir  Giles  had  read  the  letter  through,  there  came 
over  his  face  a  change  such  as  no  man  had  ever  seen 
there ;  and  there  broke  forth  betwixt  his  grinded  teeth 
a  curse  and  an  oath  that  made  the  chapellan,  who  alone 
chanced  to  be  present,  shiver  and  cross  himself  as  though 
he  stood  in  the  visible  presence  of  the  Fiend.  The  curse 
was  leveled  at  the  heads  of  both  the  rebels.  In  the  oath, 
Dynevor  swore  that,  come  life  or  death,  his  will  should 
yet  be  wrought  out,  by  foul  means  or  fair.  After  that  first 
outbreak,  he  gave  no  sign  either  of  grief  or  anger ;  only 


22  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

he  bade  the  priest  keep  his  tongue  from  wagging,  if  he 
would  keep  it  in  his  head ;  and  so  betook  himself  to  his 
chamber,  where,  for  years  past,  he  had  been  wont  to  sleep 
or  watch  alone. 

In  those  times  of  rapine  and  misrule,  few  knights  or 
nobles  scrupled  to  thrust  any  obstacle  out  of  their  path 
with  the  strong  hand.  More  than  once  during  his  long 
night-musings,  Dynevor  meditated  violence  against  the 
life  or  liberty  of  the  new-made  bride.  Even  if  she  were 
not  done  instantly  to  death,  prisons  might  be  found  scarce- 
ly less  safe  and  secret  than  the  grave.  But  the  penniless 
orphan  was  of  gentle  birth,  and  it  might  not  be  wise  to 
crush  her  like  a  churl's  daughter.  Certain  of  her  kinsfolk 
might  be  both  able  and  willing  to  exact  heavier  zvehr-geld 
for  their  cousin's  blood  than  it  would  be  convenient  to 
pay.  Notably,  there  was  Hugh  Warenne,  who  had  won 
great  renown  in  the  Scots  and  Irish  wars,  and  had  taken 
part  with  the  King  in  the  rebellion  of  the  Earls — a  good 
knight  and  true,  but  very  choleric  and  rancorous,  apt  to 
draw  sword  in  quarrels  far  less  just  than  the  redressing 
of  a  kinswoman's  wrong.  So,  malpractise  behoved  to  be 
managed  warily. 

Sir  Giles  thought  within  himself: 

"Anent  such  matters,  good  counsel  is  often  found  under 
a  monk's  cowl.  I  will  ride  to  the  Abbey,  ere  I  carry  these 
news  to  Tyringham.  It  is  ill  talking  with  Ivo,  while  his 
wits  are  flooded  with  yester-even's  drink.  The  Abbot  is 
naught;  but  Hildebrand,  the  Sub-prior,  bears  a  subtle 
brain.  I  would  fain  have  his  aid  in  this  strait,  though  I 
wis  it  will  cost  no  mean  fee." 

Early  on  the  morrow  Dynevor  went  forth,  without  com- 
muning with  any  of  his  household,  attended  only  by  one 
ancient  esquire  whom  he  specially  trusted;  and  lighted 
down  under  the  porch  of  Haultvaux,  when  matins  were 
newly  done. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  23 

He  was  sure  of  welcome  there,  were  it  only  for  his 
wife's  sake ;  for  the  name  of  that  devout  lady  was  a  pass- 
word to  priestly  favor  throughout  the  country-side;  he 
himself,  too,  had  somewhat  amended  his  ill  ways  of  late ; 
paid  all  church  dues  regularly ;  and  showed  courtesy,  if 
not  reverence,  to  frock  and  hood.  The  monks  might  have 
had  many  a  worse  neighbor.  Thus,  when  he  had  told  his 
errand,  he  was  not  bidden  to  wait;  but  the  lay  brother 
brought  him  into  the  presence  of  the  man  he  sought,  who 
chanced  to  be  walking  in  the  convent-garden  alone. 

The  Sub-prior  was  tall  and  spare  of  frame,  with  a  face 
far  more  careworn  and  deeply-lined  than  was  warranted 
by  his  forty  years.  He  had  a  swift,  restless  glance,  and 
the  curt,  decisive  manner  of  one  who  cares  not  to  waste 
time  in  idle  speech.  It  was  not  the  first  time  that  these 
two  had  conferred  together,  though  never  on  matter  of 
such  grave  import ;  and  each  had  conceived  a  certain  re- 
spect for  the  other's  sagacity,  even  if  between  them  there 
was  not  perfect  trust. 

While  Dynevor  told  his  brief  tale,  Hildebrand  walked 
on  silently,  his  head  bent  upon  his  breast ;  but,  at  the  last 
words,  he  halted  and  looked  up,  with  a  glitter  in  his  keen 
black  eyes. 

"This  comes  of  showing  charity  to  beggarly  cousins." 

"It  is  ill  repenting  any  charity  whatsoever,"  the  church- 
man said.  "And  to  whom  should  alms  be  given,  if  not 
to  a  man's  own  kin  ?  Yet  I  knew  not  the  damsel  was  of 
your  blood  ?" 

"Neither  is  she,"  the  other  answered;  "but  a  far-off 
kinswoman  of  my  dame,  who  must  needs  befriend  her 
when  the  Scots  slew  her  father ;  albeit,  there  were  others 
whom  the  charge  better  became." 

"A  far-off  kinswoman,  sayest  thou?  Near  enough, 
perchance,  were  her  lineage  heedfully  looked  into,  to  be 
within  the  degrees  forbidden  to  wed,  unless  by  special 


24  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

license  of  the  Church.  There  hath  been  loose  observance 
of  such  rules  of  late  by  many  godless  laymen ;  but,  I 
mind  me,  these  matters  were  much  spoken  of  at  the  last 
Council ;  and  our  Holy  Father  averred  that  order  should 
be  taken  with  such  as  occasion  shall  serve.  Thus  much 
I  know  of  a  surety  from  a  near  kinsman  of  mine,  who 
hath  long  been  high  in  trust  with  our  Holy  Father ; 
though  he  wears  the  cardinal's  hat  but  newly." 

Seldom,  indeed,  had  Dynevor's  well-trained  face  be- 
trayed so  much  emotion  as  disturbed  it  then.  His  voice 
was  unsteady  as  he  made  answer;  and  the  fingers  that 
griped  the  priest's  sleeve  shook  with  a  fierce,  nervous 
emotion. 

"By  Christ's  body !  I  did  well  in  seeking  thee  in  this  my 
strait.  Thou  canst  give  good  help,  no  less  than  good 
counsel,  here.  I  wot  well  such  service  is  costly ;  for  each 
door  at  Avignon  must  be  unlocked  with  a  golden  key. 
Now,  good  father  Hildebrand,  say  what  thou  requirest. 
I  will  not  stand  a-chaffering,  though  I  have  to  give  bond 
on  the  half  of  my  possessions  to  Longobard  or  Jew." 

The  monk's  restless  eyes  grew  steady,  as  though  they 
had  been  carved  in  jet,  as  they  settled  on  the  other's  face. 

"For  myself  I  require  nothing,"  he  said  very  coldly. 
"And,  it  may  be,  my  kinsman  will  take  no  guerdon  for 
serving  me  or  mine,  yet  were  it  shame,  if  I  let  pass  a 
chance  of  profiting  mine  Order.  Lo,  I  will  deal  plainly 
and  roundly  with  thee.  In  our  chartulary  there  lies,  as 
thou  may'st  see,  a  map  of  the  lands  wherewith  this  Abbey 
was  endowed  by  the  first  Henry,  our  pious  founder.  Our 
limits  are  narrower  now,  by  many  a  rood,  than  there  set 
forth.  Wottest  thou  why?  Thou  hast  heard  of  the 
troubles  in  King  Stephen's  time,  when  those  that  sat  in 
high  places  waxed  so  stubborn  in  their  guilt,  that  Theo- 
bald, the  Archbishop,  was  constrained  to  lay  all  this  fair 
realm  under  ban  ?  In  those  dark  and  evil  days  many  quar- 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  25 

rels  arose  betwixt  clerk  and  layman.  Taking  vantage  of 
one  of  such,  and,  perchance,  of  some  faint  uncertainty  in 
bounds,  thine  ancestor,  Oliver  Dynevor,  violently  ousted 
our  vassals  from  all  our  lands  lying  westward  of  the 
streamlet  men  call  the  Neme ;  and  held  them  ever  after  by 
the  strong  hand.  This  iniquity  King  Stephen  did  mani- 
festly countenance  and  approve ;  for  which  misdeeds,  and 
many  others,  may  God  assoilzie  him !  All  these  things  are 
set  down  in  our  chronicles,  not  without  dolor  and  some- 
thing of  self-reproach,  by  Ingilram,  our  then-time  Abbot 
— a  godly  man,  and  of  tender  conscience — albeit,  scarce 
made  of  martyr's  stuff.  Now — should  I  place  in  thine 
hand  our  Holy  Father's  rescript,  utterly  annulling  this, 
thy  son's  marriage — wilt  thou  make  amends  for  the  sins 
of  thy  fathers,  and  restore  to  the  Church  her  own?  If 
this  please  thee,  it  is  well.  With  the  good  leave  of  my 
Superior,  I  will  aid  thee  to  the  uttermost  of  my  power. 
Neither  do  I  fear  but  that  we  shall  compass  our  ends. 
If  otherwise — let  there  be  no  further  words  betwixt  us ; 
but  go  thy  way  in  peace,  being  assured  that  I  will  not  be- 
wray thy  counsel." 

Whilst  Sir  Giles  stood  silent,  his  brows  were  ominously 
overcast.  Yet  was  the  frown  rather  of  thought  than  of 
anger.  He  knew — none  better — the  length  and  breadth 
of  each  acre  he  was  asked  to  resign ;  the  hanging  woods 
holding  so  many  oaks  and  beeches  ripe  for  felling;  the 
fair  corn  lands  sloping  to  the  southeast,  so  as  to  miss 
no  gleam  of  morning  and  noonday  suns ;  the  fat  mead- 
ows, where  the  herbage  hid  the  hocks  of  browsing  kine. 
But,  fairer  and  broader  and  richer  yet,  stretched  before 
his  mind's  eye  the  domains  of  which  one  standing  on 
Tyringham  Keep  could  scarce  see  the  ending.  His  choice 
was  not  long  a-making. 

"Thou  are  a  shrewd  bargainer,  Sub-prior,"  he  said  with 
a  short,  sullen  laugh.  "But  I  blame  thee  not  for  making 


26  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

good  terms  for  thine  Order ;  especially  since  its  advance- 
ment may,  one  day,  be  thine  own.  'Tis  a  heavy  venture 
and  a  perilous.  I  am  even  as  a  merchant  who  sends  forth 
his  mightiest  argosy  to  trade  in  unknown  seas.  Only 
chances  of  life  and  death  are  harder  to  reckon  than 
hazard  of  wind  or  waves.  Nevertheless,  as  I  said  before, 
I  will  not  chaffer  with  thee.  Do  thou  engage  that  this 
matter  shall  be  managed,  at  thine  own  cost  and  risk,  should 
it  miscarry.  On  my  part,  I  will  cause  to  be  prepared 
a  gift-deed  of  every  acre  whereof  thou  hast  spoken.  This 
will  I  exchange  with  the  rescript,  that  shall  leave  my  son 
free  to  wed  again." 

On  this  compact  without  more  ado,  the  priest  and  the 
knight  struck  hands ;  and  presently,  after  it  had  been  ap- 
proved by  the  Abbot,  each  swore  to  perform  his  part  there- 
in faithfully,  on  the  most  precious  of  the  many  reliquaries 
for  which  Haultvaux  was  famed — that  enclosing  a  verit- 
able morsel  of  the  Holy  Scqurge. 

Then,  with  heart  and  brain  somewhat  lightened,  Sir 
Giles  set  forward  to  tell  his  tale  at  Tyringham. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   WORKING  OF  THE  RESCRIPT. 

N  hearing  the  news,  Malpas  fell  at  the  first 
into  great  wonderment  and  wroth ;  but  soon 
sank  into  the  wonted  sullen  acquiescence  in  his 
comrade's  will,  swearing,  with  a  grisly  oath 
that — "it  would  do  the  wench  no  harm  to  wait ;  and  that, 
if  she  wedded  not  Dynevor's  son,  she  might,  for  aught  he 
cared,  die  a  maid." 

So  the  runaways  dwelt  for  awhile,  in  great  peace  and 
content,  in  a  lonely  hostel  without  the  skirts  of  South- 
wark ;  subsisting  on  moneys  taken  up  at  heavy  interest 
by  Simon  Dynevor  from  certain  Hebrews  who  were  ready 
to  pleasure  the  heir  of  Bever ;  never  dreaming  that  doctors 
learned  in  Church-law  were  even  then  busy  with  their 
names  and  lineage,  and  that  the  highest,  if  not  the  wisest, 
head  in  Christendom  had  been  disquieted  with  their 
matters. 

They  began  by  being  very  timid  and  wary ;  keeping  al- 
ways their  chamber  by  day,  and  only  venturing  forth  after 
nightfall  to  take  the  air;  but  as  time  went  on,  bringing 
no  answer  to  Simon's  letter  and  yet  no  further  cause  for 
alarm,  they  waxed  bolder,  and  crept  further  a-field ; 
though  they  ever  shunned  open  street  or  frequented  high- 
way. 

Of  a  truth,  caution  was  utterly  wasted.  In  the  very 
month  of  their  flight,  the  cunning  hunter  whom  they  both 
so  dreaded  had  harbored  his  game;  and  could  afford  to 


28  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

bide  quiet  till  the  fitting  time  came  for  loosing  his  gaze- 
hounds.  Fettered  in  one  of  his  own  dungeons,  Simon 
would  scarce  have  been  a  safer  prisoner,  than  where  his 
goings-out  and  comings-in  were  never  unwatched  by  his 
father's  spies. 

The  Sub-prior  had  not  over-rated  his  kinsman's  au- 
thority or  good-will ;  and  fear  or  favor  wrought  more 
potently  at  Avignon  than  even  at  Rome.  Before  the 
summer  was  far  spent  the  Pope's  rescript  came,  making 
utterly  null  and  void  Simon  Dynevor's  marriage,  and  bid- 
ding him  put  away  his  wife,  under  pain  of  Church's 
ban. 

One  evening  in  that  same  week,  Simon  walked  forth 
along  the  riverside  alone ;  for  Maude's  failing  health  did 
not  suffer  her  to  go  often  abroad.  Passing  through  a 
coppice,  he  was  suddenly  beset  and  overcome  before  he 
could  make  a  show  of  resistance.  When  the  mantle 
which  both  blindfolded  and  gagged  him  was  removed, 
he  found  himself  set  in  saddle  in  the  midst  of  a  clump 
of  spears.  None  of  those  horsemen  bore  badge  on  helmet, 
or  blazon  on  shield ;  but,  as  they  sped  swiftly  through  the 
summer  night,  the  youth  recognized  the  burly  figure  of 
Philip  Kemeys,  the  ancient  esquire  who  carried  ever 
Dynevor's  banner.  He  asked  no  question  after  that ;  and 
kept  sullen  silence  till  they  brought  him,  some  few  hours 
later,  into  his  father's  presence. 

Sir  Giles  was,  as  has  been  aforesaid,  a  man  of  few 
words.  If  he  gave  the  runaway  no  kindly  greeting, 
neither  did  he  waste  time  in  reviling.  When  they  were 
alone  together,  he  set  before  his  son  a  copy,  fairly  en- 
grossed, of  the  Pope's  rescript,  and  gave  the  youth  time 
to  digest  it  thoroughly.  But,  when  he  spoke,  each  slow 
syllable  carried  with  it  the  weight  of  a  fell,  pitiless  pur- 
pose. 

"Hearken !"  he  said  ;  "we  have  well-nigh  done  with  boys' 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  29 

play.  I  have  paid  for  yonder  parchment  tenfold  the  price 
that  might  have  saved  thy  fool's  head  from  gibbet  or 
block — marry,  it  might  have  ransomed  a  belted  earl! 
Shall  it  be  for  naught,  that  I  have  let  pass  away  the  lands 
stout  Oliver  Dynevor  won?  I  tell  thee,  nay.  Thou  art 
free,  as  thou  seest,  to  woo  and  wive  again.  Either  this 
night  thou  shalt  swear,  with  hand  on  altar,  to  wed  Mai- 
pas'  daughter  as  soon  as  he  and  I  shall  deem  it  becoming 
— never  stirring  meanwhile  beyond  his  domains  and  mine 
own — or,  before  another  sundown,  by  Christ's  body!  it 
shall  have  fared  with  thee  worse  than  ever  it  has  fared 
with  malapert  vassals.  I  wis,  thou  hast  seen  me  deal  with 
such  ere  now." 

Simon  Dynevor  could  be  obstinate  enough  in  his  own 
saturnine  way;  but  he  had  not  the  savage  self-will  and 
dogged  courage  of  the  old  wolf  who  begot  him.  No 
marvel  that  at  those  last  words  he  shivered.  He  felt 
they  carried  no  vain  threat — that  he  was  utterly  in  the 
power  of  one  who  feared  not  God,  neither  regarded  man. 
Moreover,  it  was  possible  that  satiety  had  begun,  though 
he  knew  it  not,  to  sway  his  brutal  nature.  He  might  have 
been  content  to  dwell  on  forever  with  Maude,  yet  she  no 
longer  seemed  worth  the  risk  of  life  or  liberty.  So,  with- 
out more  ado — stipulating  only  that  fair  maintenance 
should  be  insured  to  his  divorced  wife  and  her  child, 
should  it  be  born  alive — he  expressed  himself  ready  to 
follow  in  all  things  his  father's  will. 

That  same  day  Philip  Kemeys  rode  forth  again,  bearing 
a  letter  writ  in  Simon  Dynevor's  own  hand,  and  a  gipsire 
crammed  with  bezants.  The  ancient  esquire  had  served 
his  master  not  less  faith'fully  for  evil  than  for  good,  and 
had  taken  part  ere  now  in  some  black  misdeeds ;  yet  he 
went  on  this  errand  with  a  great  loathing  and  heaviness 
of  heart,  and  never  cared  to  speak  of  it  in  after  times. 

During  all  the  hours  of  her  husband's  absence,  Maude 


30  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

had  been  well-nign  distraught  with  terror ;  nevertheless 
she  took  the  news  of  her  desertion  and  shame  with  singu- 
lar calmness.  Only,  as  she  deciphered  painfully  the  curt, 
cold,  cruel  letter,  with  its  set  forms  of  remorse  and  formal 
farewells,  the  blood  ebbed  out  of  her  cheeks.  While  she 
lived,  it  came  back  no  more.  She  made  no  loud  moan  or 
lamentation ;  neither  did  she  send  back  one  word  or  mes- 
sage to  the  man  who  had  done  her  such  deadly  wrong. 
But  she  bade  Philip  Kemeys — "begone  with  his  gold ;  for 
that  her  own  kinsfolk,  she  doubted  not,  would  henceforth 
grant  her  food  and  shelter ;  and  that,  were  it  otherwise, 
she  would  go  forth  into  the  highways,  and  ask  alms  of 
passers-by,  rather  than  trust  to  a  Dynevor's  bounty." 
She  said  this  without  any  display  of  passion  or  bitter- 
ness ;  yet  there  was  a  look  in  her  bright,  tearless  eyes  that 
made  the  esquire  right  willing  to  escape  from  her  pres- 
ence. 

Sir  Ralph  Warenne  chanced  to  be  then  tarrying  at  his 
lodging  near  the  Abbey  Church  of  Westminster.  Before 
nightfall  he  had  conveyed  his  cousin  thither,  and  given 
her  into  the  charge  of  his  own  sister,  a  discreet  and  charit- 
able widow  who  governed  his  household.  The  choleric 
old  soldier  espoused  his  kinswoman's  cause  with  great 
heat  and  rancor ;  nor  could  Maude's  piteous  entreaties 
withhold  him  from  sending  cartel  to  Bever,  wherein  he 
spoke  of  both  father  and  son  as  disloyal  faitors ;  offering 
to  prove  the  same  on  both  or  either  of  their  bodies.  To 
which  Dynevor  made  answer,  that : 

"Those  two  had  bound  themselves  together  without 
leave  or  license  from  him ;  and  that,  though  he  was  well 
pleased  to  see  them  asunder,  the  work  was  not  his  doing, 
but  the  will  of  Holy  Church,  against  the  which  he  trusted 
a  Christian  knight  would  not  array  himself;  yet  were  it 
otherwise,  neither  he  nor  his  would  draw  sword  in  such 
a  quarrel,  save  to  guard  their  own  lives  or  goods,  and 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  31 

would  be  content  to  underlie  Sir  Ralph  Warenne's  chal- 
lenge." 

This  politic  reply  made  the  other  chafe  more  savagely ; 
but  just  then  arose  such  a  public  turmoil,  as  left  no  man 
leisure  for  private  brawls.  In  that  September  set  sail 
from  Dordrecht,  Isabella  the  Queen,  with  Mortimer  her 
paramour,  and  John  of  Hainault,  her  true  knight;  and, 
with  three  hundred  men-at-arms,  marched  westward  from 
Orwell  Sands,  till  she  besieged  her  husband  with  a  mighty 
host. 

Now  Ralph  Warenne  had  grown  aweary  of  king's 
caprice  and  favorite's  insolence ;  so  he  joined  the  advanc- 
ing army  readily  enough,  with  all  the  lances  he  could  mus- 
ter; and,  after  Bristol  leaguer,  went  northward  on  the 
queen's  behest,  only  returning  to  Westminster  in  Janu- 
ary to  see  the  third  Edward  crowned. 

He  had  not  been  so  moved  for  years  as  when  they  told 
him,  on  dismounting  at  his  own  door,  that  Maude  War- 
enne had  died  in  child-bed  but  a  week  before,  leaving  a 
healthy  boy.  The  rude,  bluff  soldier  felt  keenly  the  loss 
of  the  pale,  delicate  woman,  whose  existence  he  had  never 
heeded  till  of  late.  He  caused  the  child  to  be  christened 
after  his  own  name,  and  swore  a  great  oath  that  he  would 
some  day  adopt  it  as  his  own;  for  up  to  threescore  Sir 
Ralph  had  found  no  time  to  wed. 

Before  that  year's  leaves  were  brown,  the  good  knight's 
wars  were  ended.  When  they  marched  northward  to 
chastise  the  Scotch  marauders,  Warenne  was  already 
greatly  trusted  by  the  young  king,  and  attached  to  his 
household.  One  hot  August  night,  as  they  lay  on  the 
banks  of  the  Wear,  Sir  Ralph  had  lain  down  to  rest  in 
his  tent  touching  the  royal  pavilion — it  was  not  his  turn 
to  keep  watch — when  a  familiar  war-cry  mingled  with 
his  dreams  ;  struggling  up  from  under  the  folds  of  canvas 
and  tangled  tent  ropes,  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with 


32  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

the  Douglas.  Black  James  in  many  points  was  the  very 
mirror  of  chivalry ;  yet  he  spared  not  to  discharge  on  the 
bare  head  of  his  old  antagonist  one  downright  mace- 
stroke,  which  settled  forever  their  long  and  doubtful  bal- 
ance of  hard  blows. 

The  great  Pendulum  is  often  swinging  steadily  and 
evenly  enough,  when  such  as  read  not  the  dial  aright  deem 
that  it  keeps  uncertain  time.  Before  the  motherless  baby 
lost  his  second  protector,  there  was  heavy  counterpoise 
of  retribution. 

When  Sir  Giles  caused  his  son  to  swear  that  he  would 
wed  Malpas'  daughter,  so  soon  as  it  was  thought  becom- 
ing, he  knew  well  that  there  were  many,  even  in  that  un- 
scrupulous age,  who  would  have  cried  shame,  had  the  es- 
pousals been  pressed  on  with  indecent  haste.  He  was  well 
content  to  let  things  bide  for  a  full  year ;  for  he  did  not 
fear  that  the  bridegroom  would  again  try  to  break  tram- 
mels. So,  when  Dynevor — who  took  no  part  in  the 
troubles  of  the  autumn — deemed  it  politic  to  make  a  late 
display  of  loyalty  by  attendance  at  the  anointing  of  the 
young  king,  Simon  rode  to  Westminster  in  his  father's 
train,  a  free  man  to  all  outward  seeming.  They  tarried 
there  not  long — three  nights  only — yet  long  enough  for 
the  youth  to  hear  (one  of  his  fellow  esquires  had  a  cousin 
in  Warenne's  household)  of  the  birth  which  brought  him 
a  son,  though  not  an  heir,  and  of  the  death  which  made 
him  doubly  free.  He  received  the  news  without  any  show 
of  sorrow  or  surprise ;  only,  for  some  days  afterward, 
he  was  silent  and  morose  even  beyond  his  wont,  and  there 
was  a  deeper  gloom  on  his  downcast  face. 

But  all  this  while  a  certain  frail  life  thread,  on  which 
many  hopes  hung,  was  parting  strand  by  strand.  Edith 
Malpas  seemed  to  wither  as  the  wild  flowers  began  to 
bloom.  Her  cheeks  were  almost  livid  at  times  in  their 
paleness ;  and  she  pressed  her  thin  hand  often  on  her  heart 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  33 

with  a  low  moan  of  pain.  But  of  these  signs  none  took 
heed,  unless  it  were  perchance  the  girl's  nurse  and  foster- 
mother,  who  stood  in  too  great  awe  of  Ivo's  drunken 
furies,  even  to  whisper  her  fears. 

It  was  within  one  week  of  the  espousal  day.  Already 
preparations  were  far  advanced  at  Tyringham  for  a  ban- 
quet that  should  cast  past  carousals  into  the  shade.  The 
morning  meal  at  Bever  was  done,  and  Sir  Giles  was  just 
starting  for  the  neighboring  town,  where  he  was  to  confer 
with  certain  cunning  artificers  concerning  the  bridal  pag- 
eant. He  stood  waiting  for  his  palfrey,  stirrup-cup  in 
hand.  As  he  raised  it  to  his  lips,  a  man-at-arms  rode  into 
the  courtyard  at  headlong  speed.  The  great  silver  hanap 
fell  clattering  down,  and  the  good  liquor  flowed  out  far 
and  wide ;  for  the  horseman's  visor  was  up,  and  Sir  Giles 
guessed  from  his  face  that  he  brought  evil  tidings. 

Before  the  messenger  had  faltered  out  his  brief  tale, 
the  purposes  and  plans  of  so  many  years  were  as  though 
they  had  never  been.  Edith  Malpas  must  have  died 
soon  after  she  lay  down  to  rest  the  night  before ;  for  that 
morning  they  found  her  stiff  and  cold. 

Sir  Giles  answered  never  a  word ;  but  stood  swaying 
slowly  to  and  fro  like  a  drunkard  whose  will  still  struggles 
against  strong  wine.  Then  the  blood  rushed  up  brow-high 
in  a  dark  crimson  surge,  leaving  cheeks  and  lips  ashy 
white,  when  it  ebbed  again  as  suddenly.  He  cast  his  hands 
aloft,  clutching  the  air  as  men  clutch  at  the  water  in  their 
last  drowning  pang ;  and,  with  one  choking  gurgle  in  the 
throat,  fell  down  right  under  the  horse's  hoofs  a  helpless, 
distorted  heap.  As  they  bore  him  away,  the  least  learned 
in  leechcraft,  of  all  who  stood  by,  guessed  that  their  lord 
had  been  stricken  down  by  swift  and  deadly  palsy. 

He  never  spoke  intelligently  after  that;  and  showed 
token  of  absolute  consciousness  once  only — in  this  wise. 

The  Abbot  of  Haultvaux,  anxious  that  so  large  a  bene- 


34  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

factor  to  the  Church  should  not  lack  her  last  good  offices, 
and  being  himself  ill  at  ease,  sent  the  Sub-prior  in  his 
stead  with  profuse  messages  of  condolence.  Father  Hilde- 
brand's  nerves  were  not  easily  moved  by  pity  or  fear ; 
yet  on  the  threshold  of  the  sick  chamber  he  shrank  back 
appalled.  Over  so  much  of  Sir  Giles'  writhen  face  as  the 
palsy  had  spared,  there  swept  an  awful  convulsion  of 
hatred  and  loathing;  and  his  one  uncrippled  hand  was 
clenched  and  outstretched  in  feeble  menace  or  warning. 
The  monk  read  these  signs  of  passion  aright.  He  guessed 
how  the  memory  of  the  broad  acres,  sacrificed  utterly  in 
vain,  was  rankling  then ;  and  felt  his  priestcraft  powerless 
to  grapple  with  the  thwarted  devil  of  avarice  that  glared 
out  of  those  bloodshot  eyes ;  so,  with  scant  ceremony  or 
excuse,  he  departed  out  of  the  evil  presence  like  a  baffled 
exorcist ;  leaving  the  chapellan  of  Bever  to  deal  with  the 
grisly  penitent. 

So  died  Sir  Giles  Dynevor — scarcely  in  the  odor  of 
sanctity.  Nevertheless,  his  bones  were  laid  with  great 
reverence  and  honor  under  the  chancel  at  Haultvaux ;  and 
over  them  was  built,  at  the  sole  charge  of  the  House,  a 
stately  tomb  of  Sienna  marble,  bearing  the  effigy  of  that 
good  knight  with  hands  duly  folded  in  prayer ;  whereon, 
till  the  eighth  Henry  made  havoc  with  the  Abbey  and  all 
appertaining  thereto,  might  have  been  read  an  epitaph  in 
fair  monkish  Latin,  of  which  the  last  two  versicles  may 
serve  for  an  ensample: 

Marte  :  ferox  :  in  :  pace  :  sagax  :  huic  :  ille  :  sacello 

E  '•  pietate:  sua  :  munera  :  larga  :  dedit. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  BREEDING  OF  THE  BASTARD. 

HE  heir  of  Bever  bore  the  loss  of  his  father,  and 
his  own  accession  to  the  family  honors,  with 
singular  calmness,  not  to  say  indifference. 
Neither  did  it  seem  likely  that  his  house  would 
be  much  advanced  by  his  care  for  its  honor  and  dignity. 
But,  in  truth,  had  Simon  been  endowed  with  all  the  energy 
and  ambition  of  his  sire,  both  must  needs  have  been 
cramped  by  the  unhappy  disaster  which  befel  him,  before 
he  had  been  three  full  years  in  possession  of  his  inherit- 
ance. Returning  home  one  frosty  evening,  his  horse 
floundered  on  the  slippery  stones  before  the  barbican  ;  and 
Dynevor  was  carried  in  with  a  broken  thigh,  and  hip  so 
sorely  strained,  that  a  better  chirurgeon  than  the  unskilful 
leech  who  tended  him,  would  scarce  have  saved  the  patient 
from  halting  thenceforth.  Whilst  still  in  the  spring  of 
life,  he  was  cut  off  from  all  share  in  the  wars  and  sports 
of  his  peers ;  for  neither  in  tourney,  chase,  nor  melee,  can 
place  be  found  for  one  who  may  not  sit  saddle  fast.  From 
courtly  pageant  or  pastime  he  was  yet  more  estranged, 
for  out  of  such  metal  never  was  molded  squire  of  dames. 
The  bearing  of  that  heavy  cross  might  perchance  have 
warped  a  kindlier  and  more  patient  nature;  so  'tis  no 
marvel  if  Dynevor  grew  up  to  middle  age  a  soured  and 
morose  man — not  absolutely  a  domestic  tyrant  or  brutal 
despot,  yet  overapt  to  vent  his  evil  tempers  in  a  slow,  sar- 
donic fashion  on  such  as  were  bound  to  endure  them. 


36  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

Some  short  while  before  his  mishap,  Simon  Dynevor 
had  sent  sufficiently  courteous  messages  to  Ralph  War- 
enne's  surviving  sister,  thanking  her  for  her  charitable 
care  and  proffering  thenceforward  to  take  the  child  in 
charge.  To  this  Dame  Margaret  assented  very  readily; 
she  was  left  something  straitened  in  means,  and  had 
no  mind  to  keep  needless  encumbrances.  So  the  little 
Ralph  was  brought  home  to  Bever,  along  with  Gillian, 
his  foster-mother,  whose  husband  was  slain,  hard  by  his 
lord,  in  that  night  surprise  on  the  banks  of  Wear.  The 
same  Gillian  was  very  comely  to  look  upon,  and  still  in 
her  early  prime,  by  the  time  her  nursling  could  be  trusted 
alone,  she  was  married  again  to  one  of  Dynevor's  for- 
esters, and  settled  in  a  cottage  of  her  own  some  few  bow- 
shots from  the  castle. 

In  that  cottage  Ralph  Fitzwarenne  (thus  the  boy,  by 
the  will  of  his  dead  godfather,  had  been  christened)  spent 
much  of  his  early  boyhood. 

The  conscience  of  Simon  Dynevor  seems  to  have  been 
satisfied  so  soon  as  his  son  was  fairly  in  his  charge ;  and, 
after  that  one  act  of  grace,  the  meanest  of  his  household 
was  not  treated  with  more  utter  neglect.  While  she  lived, 
Dame  Alice  Dynevor  showed  no  small  kindness  to  the 
child ;  for  she  had  liked  his  mother  well,  in  her  own  staid, 
austere  way,  and — despite  her  belief  in  the  deceased  Sir 
Giles's  sagacity,  and  her  reverence  for  Holy  Church's 
behest — she  could  not  but  fear  that  Maude  had  been  hard- 
ly dealt  with.  Neither  could  she  ever  wholly  put  aside 
certain  vague  self-reproaches  for  negligence,  in  not  having 
stood  more  heedfully  betwixt  the  dead  and  her  own  son. 
She  did  her  best  to  instruct  the  boy  in  such  simple  lore 
as  she  herself  had  attained;  but  she  could  scarcely  spell 
over  her  own  missal,  whilst  monkish  legends  made  up  her 
history.  To  these  long-winded  discourses  Ralph  would 
sit  listening  gravely  for  hours,  never  once  indulging  in  a 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  37 

yawn  of  weariness.  In  those  days  he  was  too  grateful  for 
any  loving  word  or  look  not  to  be  ready  to  repay  such  by 
harder  self-denial  than  this. 

The  orphan — for  such  in  very  truth  he  was — had  one 
other  ally  at  Bever. 

Rheumatism  and  many  old  wounds  had  so  far  told  on 
Philip  Kemeys  as  to  make  him  more  fit  for  home  service 
than  foreign  wars  ;  though  betwixt  the  pains  that  ever  and 
anon  crippled  him,  he  could  wield  axe  or  sword  or  lance 
as  starkly  as  of  yore.  The  ancient  esquire,  from  the  day 
when  at  his  dead  master's  bidding  he  carried  that  message 
to  Maude  Warenne,  had  been  possessed  of  a  vague  re- 
morse— the  more  strange,  because  his  conscience  carried, 
with  much  ease  and  comfort,  the  burden  of  many  seem- 
ingly blacker  deeds.  He  never  told  this  to  his  confessor, 
and,  perchance,  never  allowed  it  to  himself.  But  if  Ralph 
had  been  his  own  son,  he  could  not  have  ministered  more 
sedulously  to  his  caprices,  or  trained  him  more  carefully 
in  each  manly  sport  and  martial  exercise  for  which  he 
himself  was  renowned. 

Before  the  boy  was  sixteen  he  was  left  once  more  ut- 
terly lonely ;  for,  in  the  same  winter,  the  devout  lady  and 
the  godless  old  soitdard  went  to  their  several  accounts ; 
and  their  pupil  regretted  the  sinner  far  more  than  he  did 
the  saint. 

Some  three  years  earlier  a  great  change  had  come  over 
Bever.  Though  Sir  Simon  Dynevor  cared  little  for  the 
advancement  of  his  house,  he  knew  that  it  behooved  him  to 
wive  again,  if  only  to  purvey  himself  with  heirs-male. 
His  choice  fell  on  the  Lady  Ursula  Montacute — a  damsel 
neither  fair,  young,  nor  richly  dowered ;  but  of  morals 
unimpeached,  and  stainless  descent — the  sister  of  a  neigh- 
boring baron. 

The  Lady  Ursula  was  born  with  a  quick  temper  and 
shrewish  tongue ;  and  long  waiting  for  tardy  wooers  had 


38  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

helped  to  sour  the  one  and  sharpen  the  other.  She  chose 
to  rule  her  new  household  less  by  love  than  by  fear — being 
careful  only  to  never  thwart  her  sullen  lord.  Ralph 
Fitzwarenne,  for  reasons  not  hard  to  guess,  she  held  in 
special  aversion,  and  lost.no  chance  of  stinging  him  with 
bitter  words,  or  of  bringing  him  under  his  father's  dis- 
pleasure. Twice  or  thrice  she  caused  the  boy  to  be  severely 
scourged  by  the  castle  chapellan ;  for  Sir  Simon  himself 
never  laid  his  hands  upon  the  boy  in  anger.  Once,  in 
early  marriage  days,  she  ventured  to  hint  that  his  very 
presence  and  maintenance  in  the  castle  was  a  grievous 
insult  to  herself ;  but  she  was  bidden  to  "hold  her  peace, 
and  not  to  presume  to  meddle" ;  whilst  an  ominous  look 
from  under  her  husband's  brows  warned  her  she  had  gone 
too  far.  She  broached  that  matter  no  more. 

But  Ralph  was  wondrously  hard  and  stubborn.  Of 
taunts  or  reproofs  or  stripes  he  took  no  more  heed  than 
of  an  April  shower.  If  he  was  chary  of  smiles  and  seldom 
laughed  aloud,  neither  man  nor  woman  since  his  early 
childhood  had  heard  him  wail  or  seen  him  weep.  When 
the  chiding  or  chastisement  was  over,  he  would  betake 
himself  straight  to  the  cottage  of  his  foster-mother,  and 
bide  there  till  curfew.  Even  to  her  he  made  no  complaint ; 
only  at  such  times  he  was  most  eager  to  hear  the  only 
story  of  which  he  never  wearied — the  story  of  his  dead 
mother  and  her  wrongs.  As  he  listened  to  the  simple 
tale — varied  only  by  some  trifling  incident,  that  most 
would  have  thought  not  worth  recording — the  boy's  face, 
that  had  never  changed  during  his  own  punishment,  would 
lower  and  darken  strangely.  His  big  brown  eyes  would 
gleam  with  a  malignant  fire,  and  there  broke  from  his  lips 
certain  muttered  words  that  made  Gillian  cross  herself, 
and  aver  that  she  would  speak  of  these  things  no  more. 
But  she  did  speak  of  them  again  and  again,  and  thus, 
unwittingly,  kept  alive  the  embers  of  a  bitter  enmity. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  39 

So  the  years  went  by,  till  Ralph  grew  into  a  tall,  sinewy 
youth,  overtopping  his  sire  by  a  full  head,  and  looking 
gigantic  beside  the  puny  fractious  urchin,  the  sole  issue 
of  the  second  marriage. 

Sir  Simon's  bearing  toward  his  first-born  was  some- 
what perverse  and  inconsistent.  He  rather  encouraged 
than  otherwise  the  pursuit  of  those  bodily  exercises  in 
which  the  youth  showed  already  a  rare  excellence.  Ralph 
had  always  horse  and  hound  ready  to  his  hand,  and  coin 
enough  to  enable  him  to  mingle,  after  a  modest  fashion, 
in  the  amusements  of  the  country-side.  But  when 
Dynevor  sent  forth  his  vassals  to  war,  under  command 
of  the  Lord  Montacute,  his  brother-in-law,  Ralph  was 
constrained  to  tarry  at  home  and  practise  at  the  quintain 
with  blunted  lance,  while  his  comrades  were  shivering 
grinded  spears.  How  he  chafed  under  such  idlesse — how 
his  spirit  burned  within  him  when,  in  the  long  winter 
evenings,  youths  not  older  than  himself  boasted  or  jested 
of  what  they  had  done  in  spring  or  summer  beyond  the 
narrow  seas — how  the  flaunt  of  banner,  the  sound  of 
trumpet,  and  the  rattle  of  steel,  haunted  his  waking  and 
sleeping  dreams — may  be  more  easily  conceived  than 
told.  But  he  was  too  proud  and  stubborn  even  to  re- 
quire the  reason  of  his  father's  caprice — much  less  to 
pray  him  to  change  it.  It  may  well  be  that  Sir  Simon 
only  waited  to  be  entreated ;  but  he  waited  in  vain.  So 
betwixt  these  two  ripened  day  by  day  an  evil  crop  of 
distrust  and  discontent,  and  the  harvest-time  could  not 
be  long  a-coming. 

All  this  while  the  wars  were  raging  in  Flanders  and 
Normandy  with  varying  fortunes ;  till  at  last  the  heart 
of  broad  England  leaped  up  as  the  heart  of  one  man  at 
the  news  of  Crec,y ;  when  grinding  taxes,  rough  exactions, 
and  broken  promises  were  all  forgotten  in  the  first  great 
success  of  the  brave,  patient  king.  In  the  same  autumn, 


40  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

too,  was  won  a  notable  victory ;  the  like  whereof  hath  sel- 
dom been  seen  since  on  Rephidim  the  Lawgiver's  hands 
were  stayed  up,  till  Amalek  was  smitten  hip  and  thigh 
about  the  going  down  of  the  sun.  Nor  is  it  wonder  if  at 
Neville's  Cross,  where  queen  and  noble,  knight  and 
yoeman,  gained  large  store  of  honor,  to  the  Church  mili- 
tant was  given  the  chiefest  share.  For,  to  sound  of  matin 
song,  chanted  from  Durham  tower,  the  armies  were  set 
in  array ;  monk's  frock  fluttered  side  by  side  in  the  ranks 
with  archer's  gipon ;  and,  in  the  very  forefront  of  the 
fight  gleamed  bishop's  rochet,  though  Mowbray,  Dacre, 
and  Percy  laid  their  lances  in  rest 

To  the  tidings  of  these  feats  of  arms,  when  they  came  in 
due  course  to  Bever,  Ralph  Fitzwarenne  gave  attentive 
ear.  He  spoke  little  at  the  time ;  but  thenceforward  day 
by  day  grew  more  taciturn  and  reserved,  and  withdrew 
himself  from  the  sports  and  pastimes  in  which  he  had 
heretofore  delighted ;  going  forth  alone  to  hawk  or  strike 
a  deer;  and  in  all  ways  rather  avoiding  than  seeking  the 
company  of  his  fellows. 

The  change  in  the  youth's  demeanor  escaped  not  Sir 
Simon  Dynevor ;  and  his  sharp,  suspicious  glance  dwelt 
more  often  than  was  its  wont  on  his  son's  face,  while  the 
other's  eyes  would  flash  back  something  akin  to  defiance. 
So  through  winter  and  early  spring  the  pair  lay  watching 
each  other ;  like  wary  commanders,  each  within  his  own 
entrenchment,  waiting,  perchance,  the  opportunity  to 
make  sally. 


CHAPTER  V. 

AN   HAGARENE. 

ARLY  on  a  breezy  March  day  Sir  Simon  Dynevor 
sat  in  his  judgment  seat — a  huge  arm-chair, 
drawn  into  the  embrasure  of  a  window  looking 
westward  from  the  dais  of  his  hall.  Close  to 
his  shoulder  stood  the  Lady  Ursula — shrill  and  voluble 
in  accusation — clasping  to  her  side  a  sallow,  hard-featured 
boy,  some  ten  years  old,  and  the  very  image  of  herself, 
whose  grief  was  yet  more  clamorous  than  her  own  invec- 
tive. Only  two  others  were  in  presence — the  chapellan 
of  the  castle  and  Ralph  Fitzwarenne. 

Whilst  the  lady's  eloquence  was  in  full  tide,  her  hus- 
band raised  his  hand  impatiently: 

"I  prithee  hush,  ma  mie ;  thou  art  too  distempered  to 
tell  the  tale.  And,  Oliver,  still  that  fool's  tongue,  or  thou 
shalt  have  good  cause  for  whining.  Father  Clement,  it 
seems  thou  hast  witnessed  such  and  such  things.  Speak 
oil,  in  the  fiend's  name!" 

Thus  rudely  adjured,  the  other  gave  his  testimony  with 
some  haste  and  tremor.  Yet  in  his  tone  there  was  a  bitter- 
ness scarcely  dissembled.  Plainly  the  priest  owed  Fitz- 
warenne an  ancient  grudge,  and  was  right  ready  to  pay 
it.  He  averred  that,  reading  his  breviary  in  his  chamber, 
he  had  been  disturbed  by  a  great  outcry,  and  by  the  baying 
of  the  sleuthhound  bitch  chained  in  the  base-court  below ; 
that,  looking  forth,  he  had  seen  his  young  Lord  Oliver 
haled  along,  not  without  violence,  by  Messire  Ralph,  and 


42  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

finally  flung  under  an  archway,  where,  some  moments 
later,  he,  Father  Clement,  descending  in  haste,  found  the 
child  making  piteous  moan.  But  the  door  leading  into 
the  base-court  was  shut  and  barred,  and  Messire  Ralph 
had  gone  he  knew  not  whither. 

Then  for  the  first  time  Sir  Simon  Dynevor's  sullen 
glance  lighted  on  the  accused.  As  that  youth  shall  be  the 
hero  of  this  our  tale,  it  may  be  well  to  set  down  here  his 
outward  seeming. 

Though  his  features  were  neither  coarse  nor  ignoble, 
they  were  too  strongly  marked  and  roughly-hewn  for 
beauty.  It  was  a  quiet,  resolute  face ;  far  too  grave  and 
stern  indeed  for  his  years,  even  when  his  brows  were  not 
bent  in  thought  or  anger.  His  head — fringed  with  short 
crisp  hair,  some  shades  darker  than  his  eyes,  where  a  red- 
dish tinge  mingled  with  the  brown — was  well  set  on  a 
short,  clean-cut  neck,  and  looked  smaller  than  it  really 
was,  from  his  great  breadth  and  squareness  of  shoulder. 
Though  only  in  his  twentieth  spring,  his  joints  seemed 
already  set,  and  with  each  careless  movement  of  the  long 
sinewy  limbs,  the  coils  of  hardened  muscle  showed  them- 
selves under  his  close  hunting-dress.  There  was  little  of 
culprit  or  penitent,  indeed,  about  the  demeanor  of  Ralph 
Fitzwarenne,  as  he  stood  there  haughtily  erect;  seeming 
to  dwarf  every  other  figure  in  that  group. 

"Thou  hast  heard,"  Dynevor  said.  "Hast  aught  of 
excuse  or  denial  to  urge  ;  or  speaks  the  priest  truth  ?" 

"Truth,  after  the  fashion  of  his  order,"  the  youth 
answered.  "That  is — half  truth,  or  so  much  as  suits  him 
to  tell.  Yet,  may  be,  he  saw  not  all.  He  saw  not  yonder 
pretty  poppet,  goading  Fay  with  a  steel-shod  hunting- 
pole,  till  her  muzzle  was  all  a-gore.  Rare  sport,  i'  faith, 
though  it  well-nigh  came  to  bitter  earnest.  He  held  him- 
self safe  beyond  the  sweep  of  her  chain  ;  but  when  I  came, 
the  staple  was  dragging  from  the  post.  Yet  another 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  43 

minute,  and  Fay  had  avenged  herself  in  her  own  fashion. 
This  runs  in  her  blood ;  when  fairly  wode  they  will  turn 
on  him  that  feeds  them,  if  he  comes  betwixt  them  and 
their  wrath.  Would'st  have  had  me  dally,  when  I  saw 
that  the  brache  hearkened  no  more  to  my  voice  than  to 
the  voice  of  a  stranger?  Marry,  when  I  hied  back,  not 
without  ado  got  I  leave  to  drive  the  staple  home — she  left 
her  marks  on  me  ere  we  were  friends  again." 

Drawing  up  his  doublet  sleeve,  he  showed,  a  little  above 
the  left  wrist,  a  deep  row  of  fang  marks ;  already  black 
and  swollen,  though  the  skin  was  not  broken.  They  were 
plainly  the  traces  of  a  hasty  chance  snap,  not  of  a  gripe 
given  in  pure  malice. 

Had  the  sleuthbiound's  fangs  been  on  her  darling's 
throat,  the  Lady  Ursula  could  scarce  have  raised  louder 
outcry  than  she  did,  hearing  of  his  danger.  But  her 
husband  hushed  her  again  with  his  hand ;  and  in  his  tone, 
as  he  made  reply,  there  was  a  calm  more  ominous  than 
passion. 

"Whence  gottest  thou  yonder  hound  ?  And  since  when 
hast  thou  license  to  keep,  under  this  roof  of  mine,  brutes 
from  whom  there  comes  peril  of  life  and  limb ?  Had  harm 
come  to  yonder  child,  thinkest  thou  amends  had  been  made 
by  the  throttling  of  a  score  like  thee  ?" 

The  young  man's  face  began  to  darken ;  and  that  evil 
light,  before  spoken  of,  came  into  his  bright  brown  eyes. 

"She  was  Philip  Kemeys'  last  gift  to  me.  He  traveled 
many  a  league  to  fetch  her,  when  his  mortal  sickness  was 
upon  him  ;  for  from  that  day  he  sate  never  in  saddle  again. 
There  is  not  her  match — as  all  thy  foresters  know — be- 
twixt Thames  and  the  narrow  seas.  Moreover,  she  is  the 
only  thing  that  I  ever  owned  for  which  I  was  not  beholden 
to  thy  charity.  Her  food  and  kennel-room  she  hath  fairly 
earned ;  she  hath  saved  thee  many  a  deer.  I  had  been 
right  sorry  had  harm  happened  to  the  child ;  and  I  wot 


44  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

well  that  my  life  against  his  is,  in  thine  eyes,  like  a  cinder 
from  the  furnace  against  fine  gold.  Yet  were  it  scant 
justice  to  demand  of  me  the  blood-price — seeing  that  for 
his  own  sport  he  put  his  neck  in  peril." 

"The  brache  dies  by  the  halter  ere  noon,"  Sir  Simon 
said.  "And  now  I  will  speak  of  thine  own  matters.  Lo ! 
I  approve  not  what  the  boy  hath  done ;  but  he  hath  been 
more  than  punished  by  the  rough  treatment  he  got  at  thine 
hands.  Hadst  thou  no  more  reverence  for  him  who,  if 
he  live,  shall  one  day  rule  here  in  my  stead,  than  to  cast 
him  aside  like  a  mangy  cur  ?  Didst  thou  forget  that  thou, 
whose  beard  is  well-nigh  grown,  wert  dealing  with  a 
weakling  child?  Ay — more.  Hadst  thou  forgotten  that 
what  is  but  petulance  in  the  heir,  is  mere  outre-quittance 
in " 

With  all  his  cynicism,  he  hesitated  over  the  last  brutal 
word.  But  the  other  took  up  the  broken  thread  of  speech 
quite  unconcernedly. 

" In  the  bastard.  Tis  a  simple  name,  and  soon  said. 

I  wot  not  why  thou  didst  draw  second  breath  over  it. 
Nay,  sir,  my  father,  I  have  not  forgotten ;  neither  am  I 
like  to  forget.  I  have  heard  the  tale  often  enough  to  tell 
it  without  halting.  I  know  how  thou  didst  sit  with 
folded  hands,  whilst  others  wrought  shame  to  thy  wedded 
wife — 'wedded,'  I  say,  in  the  teeth  of  monks  and  school- 
men— and  wrong  to  thine  unborn  child.  I  have  been  bred 
up  by  thy  bounty — for  what  purpose  of  thine  own  I  may 
not  guess ;  since  hitherto  it  hath  not  pleased  thee  to  send 
me  where  honor  or  wealth  is  to  be  won,  nor  even  to  raise 
me  to  esquire's  estate.  Wert  thou  as  weary  of  giving,  as 
I  am  of  eating,  the  bread  of  idlesse,  thou  wouldst  let  me 
fare  forth  to  the  wars,  were  it  only  as  a  mounted  archer. 
It  should  go  hard,  but  I  would  one  day  repay  thee  the 
charges  thou  hast  been  put  to  for  me." 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  45 

Once  more  Sir  Simon's  eyes — this  time  rather  pensively 
than  angrily — rested  on  his  first-born's  face. 

"Thy  speech  lacks  not  reason,"  he  said,  after  a  long 
pause ;  "though,  like  thy  demeanor  of  late,  'tis  something 
masterful  and  over-bold.  Grievous  wrong  was  done 
before  thy  birth  ;  though,  by  Mary's  truth,  I  plotted  it  not, 
and  would  have  stayed  it  had  I  been  able.  Moreover,  I 
have  been  in  fault  for  keeping  thee  in  paresse  here;  but 
I  cared  not,  by  setting  thee  amongst  mine  esquires,  to 
breed  in  thee  hopes  which  might  not  be  fulfilled  ;  and  I  was 
something  loath  to  send  forth  thy  mother's  son  as  a 
simple  man-at-arms.  These  things  shall  be  mended,  and 
that  speedily.  Either  thou  shalt  ride  among  my  lances 
that  are  bound  to  France  under  my  kinsman  of  Monta- 
cute's  banner,  and  win  advancement  according  as  he 
shall  report  of  thy  deserts ;  or  thou  shalt  go  forth  this 
day  alone,  with  coin  enow  to  purvey  thee,  a  stout  horse 
and  armor  of  proof,  and  some  bezants  to  boot.  But  mark 
thou  me.  If  this  last  be  thy  choice — thou  hast  thy  portion. 
Whether  thy  fortunes  be  made  or  marred,  thou  comest 
back  hither  no  more;  for  I  and  mine  shall  be  held  quit 
of  thy  maintenance  forever." 

The  blood  flushed  up  in  Ralph  Fitzwarenne's  cheek,  as 
he  made  prompt  reply : 

"Sir,  my  father,  the  choice  is  soon  made.  I  care  not 
greatly  to  ride  under  my  lord  of  Montacute's  banner,  or  to 
win  his  good  word;  neither  hoped  I  better  hap  than  to 
carve  mine  own  road  to  honor.  I  trust  not  to  misuse  thy 
bounty,  for  the  which  I  here  render  duteous  thanks.  Give 
me  such  portion  as  seemeth  to  thee  good ;  and  let  us  part 
in  peace.  Thus  much  I  dare  aver — from  this  day,  unless 
at  thine  own  express  behest,  thou  shalt  look  on  my  face 
no  more,  whether  in  life  or  death." 

Whilst  his  son  was  speaking,  Dynevor's  hand  was  laid 


46  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

on  the  silver  bell  that  stood  beside  him ;  at  the  last  words 
he  rang  it  sharply. 

"Go  thou  to  my  chamber,"  he  said  to  the  page  who 
answered  the  summons,  "and  fetch  me  hither  the  steel- 
wrought  coffer  that  stands  near  my  bed's  head.  And  bid 
the  seneschal  assemble  me  here  mine  household,  and  such 
others  as  chance  to  be  within  the  castle,  whether  vassals 
or  villeins.  It  is  my  pleasure  to  speak  with  them  pres- 
ently." 

Sir  Simon  unlocked  the  coffer  with  a  key  he  wore  under 
his  doublet  on  a  thin  silver  chain,  and  from  amongst 
certain  leathern  bags  of  coin  chose  out  one — the  heaviest. 
Then  he  drew  from  the  fourth  finger  of  his  left  hand  a 
chased  gold  ring,  wherein  was  set  a  balas  ruby ;  and  laid 
ring  and  bag  on  the  table  before  him. 

"There  is  thy  portion,"  he  said.  "Take  it  with  my  good 
leave;  and  may  God  and  our  patron  saint  prosper  it  to 
thee.  Yon  ring  was  thy  mother's  only  jewel ;  she  willed 
that  I  should  wear  it,  the  night  we  were  wedded.  It  hath 
never  left  me  till  now." 

Ralph  Fitzwarenne  came  near ;  thrust  the  bag  unopened 
into  his  gipsire ;  and  drew  the  ring  on  his  finger,  speaking 
never  a  word.  At  that  moment  he  liked  his  father  better 
than  he  had  ever  before  done ;  for  his  quick  ear  had  caught 
a  certain  tremor  in  the  other's  measured  tones,  and  his 
own  heart  was  fuller  than  he  cared  to  show. 

By  this  time  the  body  of  the  hall  was  filling  fast  with 
the  numerous  household,  amongst  whom  were  mingled 
not  a  few  dwelling  beyond  the  castle  walls,  who  chanced 
to  be  within  them  that  morning  for  business  or  pleasure. 
In  front  of  these,  marshaling  them  into  something  like 
orderly  ranks,  stood  the  ancient  seneschal,  bearing  his 
chain  and  wand  of  office,  while  the  squires  and  pages 
gathered  in  a  knot  by  themselves  just  below  the  dais.  The 
Lady  Ursula — somewhat  overawed,  albeit  not  displeased 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  47 

by  the  turn  matters  had  taken — had  withdrawn  herself 
further  into  the  deep  embrasure,  whither  her  child  and  the 
chapellan  followed.  Then  Dynevor  arose  and  came  for- 
ward, till  he  stood  full  in  front  of  his  retainers.  His  gait 
was  slow,  and  his  figure,  even  before  the  mishap  which 
crippled  and  bowed  him,  had  been  somewhat  ungainly; 
nevertheless,  his  bearing  was  not  devoid  of  a  certain  grave 
dignity,  as  he  made  his  brief  oration. 

"Good  friends,  and  liegemen,  and  servitors  of  mine, 
whether  free  or  bond :  I  have  called  ye  here  this  day-  to 
be  witnesses  betwixt  myself  and  this  youth,  whom  ye  all 
know  to  be  my  son,  born  in  wedlock — albeit  in  wedlock 
which  Holy  Church  saw  fit  to  disallow.  Ye  know,  too, 
how  up  to  this  hour  he  hath  been  nourished  and  trained 
at  my  charge — if  not  with  such  honor  as  would  befit  mine 
heir,  at  least  with  such  tendance  as  is  not  unworthy  of  my 
blood.  And  what  I  have  given  I  have  given,  the  Saints 
wot,  not  grudgingly;  nevertheless,  he  goeth  forth  this 
day — having  received  such  a  portion  as  contenteth  him 
— of  his  own  free  will,  not  driven  by  me.  Now,  I  hold 
all  ye  here  present  to  wit,  that,  even  as  I  discharge  him 
of  all  duty  and  fealty  to  me,  so  do  I  hold  myself  quit  of 
all  claim  and  clear  of  all  duty  towards  him  forever. 
Furthermore,  if  any  man  here  present,  beneath  esquire's 
rank — being  of  sound  mind  and  able  body — shall  choose  to 
bear  him  company,  he  shall  do  this  with  my  free  leave. 
If  such  an  one  be  villein,  I  will  enfranchise  him  here 
before  you ;  if  he  be  free,  he  shall  carry  with  him  the  full 
wages  of  a  foot-archer  for  a  year  and  a  day." 

There  was  a  sway  and  a  stir  in  the  little  crowd  that 
filled  the  body  of  the  hall ;  and  one  came  to  the  front  who, 
after  making  obeisance,  waited,  as  it  seemed,  to  be  ques- 
tioned. 

He  was  a  short,  thick-set  man,  with  an  honest,  heavy 
face,  imperfectly  lighted  up  by  two  pale  grey  eyes,  and 


48  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

scarcely  relieved  by  hair  of  the  lightest  flaxen,  cut  square 
across  his  low  forehead,  and  close  round  his  bull's  neck. 
His  double  joints  and  deep  chest  gave  promise  of  vast, 
though  perchance  clumsy,  strength  ;  and  as  he  stood  there, 
his  brawny  bow-legs  were  planted,  naturally,  in  the  pos- 
ture of  a  practised  wrestler  watching  for  the  grip. 

On  him  Sir  Simon  looked  with  some  surprise. 

"How  now,  Will  Lanyon?"  he  said.  "Comes  the  grist 
so  slowly  to  thy  father's  mill,  that  thou  must  needs  seek 
fortune  by  wandering  thou  knowest  not  whither  ?  I  war- 
rant that  before  a  week  is  past  thou  wilt  be  homesick 
and  wearying  for  the  clack  of  the  hopper.  Moreover,  I 
guess  thy  father  would  scarce  approve  this  venture  of 
thine." 

The  other  made  answer  in  slow,  sententious  fashion, 
like  one  who,  having  few  ideas  to  spare,  is  chary  of  their 
utterance.  His  voice  was  strangely  deep  and  gruff  for 
his  years,  which  might  have  numbered  some  five-and- 
twenty. 

"I  thank  your  worship,  trade  thrives  apace.  Never- 
theless, if  he  will  endure  my  company,  I  am  minded  to  go 
forth  with  Messire  Ralph  this  day;  and  if  I  have  your 
worship's  good  leave,  of  my  father  I  will  crave  none. 
For  his  own  pleasure  he  brought  home  Cloudesley's 
shrewish  widow  before  my  mother's  grave  was  green ; 
and  I  purpose  to  do  mine  own  pleasure  now,  whether 
it  like  him  or  no.  If  I  miss  the  clack  of  the  hopper,  I 
shall  also  miss  the  clatter  of  my  stepdame's  tongue — 
mayhap  I  shall  sleep  the  sounder.  Marry,  if  her  tongue 
were  all — but  this  morning  I  had  a  taste  of  her  five 
fingers,  and  my  cheek  is  red-hot  yet.  I  care  not  to  take 
hard  blows  without  chance  of  paying  them  back  in  kind." 

"Ay,  and  is  it  so  ?"  Dynevor  said  with  his  hard  laugh, 
so  like  his  father's,  in  which  there  was  much  of  gibe  and 
little  of  mirth.  "Light  cause,  methinks,  to  make  a  man 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  49 

leave  hearth  and  home  behind ;  yet  doth  a  gad-fly  chafe 
a  war-horse  quicker  than  a  sore  wound.  I  will  not  cross 
thy  purpose,  specially  as  thou  art  of  full  age,  and  free 
of  aught  save  vassal's  service;  come  near,  and  take  the 
year's  wage  whereof  I  spoke.  If  thou  bearest  thyself  as 
starkly  under  shield  as  thou  hast  done  at  the  wrestling 
and  cudgel-play,  the  King  hath  gained  a  stout  archer, 
though  I  lose  a  trusty  liegeman." 

When  the  silver  marks  had  been  counted  out  in  due 
tale,  and  Lanyon  had  fallen  back  into  his  place  again,  Sir 
Simon  turned,  and  beckoned  to  Ralph  Fitzwarenne.  As 
the  youth  drew  near  and  bent  one  knee,  Dynevor's  dark 
face  softened  more  than,  surely,  it  had  ever  done  since 
the  days  of  his  first  wooing ;  and  he  was  fain  to  clear  his 
throat  twice  or  thrice,  before  he  could  speak  steadily. 

"I  bid  thee  farewell  in  all  kindness ;  and  do  thou  think 
of  thy  father  as  little  hardly  as  may  be  in  the  after-time. 
If  the  blessing  of  a  right  sinful  man  may  avail  thee, 
thou  hast  it  freely ;  counsel  I  have  none  to  give.  I  know 
thee  to  be  honest ;  and  to  one  born  of  our  blood  there  is 
no  need  to  say — 'Be  bold' !  I  say  only  — 'Be  patient,  and 
prosper' !  In  the  name  of  the  most  Holy  Trinity,  and  of 
St.  Giles,  our  patron  saint,  so  mote  it  be!" 

Ralph  Fitzwarenne  laid  his  lips  on  his  father's  hand, 
scarcely  with  a  son's  devotion,  but  rather  like  a  vassal 
paying  homage  to  his  liege  lord.  As  he  rose  to  his  feet 
there  was  a  mist  over  his  own  eyes,  that  for  a  second  or 
two  made  the  figures  in  the  body  of  the  hall  look  blurred 
and  dim;  yet  in  his  bearing  there  was  never  a  sign  of 
weakness  or  regret  as  he  strode  swiftly  towards  the  great 
doorway,  looking  neither  to  the  right  hand  nor  the  left, 
and  changing  with  none  either  word  or  sign.  Close  to 
his  shoulder,  just  as  silently,  followed  Will  Lanyon.  Not 
a  few,  as  the  pair  passed  through  their  midst,  wished 
them  "God-speed"  with  bated  breath ;  but  neither  squire 


50  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

nor  servitor,  vassal  nor  villein,  presumed  to  stir  from 
his  place  till,  some  minutes  later,  Sir  Simon  Dynevor 
seemed  to  wake  from  reverie,  and  with  a  wave  of  his 
hand  gave  them  license  to  depart. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
THE  PRIEST'S  TOKEN. 


O,  out  of  the  crowd  and  shadow,  those  two  passed 
through  the  sunlight  of  the  empty  court ;  till, 
under  the  outer  archway,  Fitzwarenne  halted 
and  spoke,  looking  earnestly  into  his  follower's 
eyes — 

"Honest  Will,  I  pray  thou  mayst  never  repent  having 
cast  in  thy  lot  with  mine.  Hearken  now — if  thou  be 
minded  to  say  farewell  to  thy  father,  or  any  other,  do  so 
quickly.  I  will  tarry  at  the  crossroads  till  thou  come ; 
mine  own  leavetakings  are  well-nigh  said ;  and  I  shall 
not  draw  free  breath  till  Bever  is  a  league  behind  us ;  but 
cumber  not  thyself  with  change  of  garment,  and  such 
like.  Here  is  gold  enow  for  both  our  furniture,  if  we  win 
safe  to  Southwark ;  till  we  know  whither  we  wend,  and 
with  whom,  'tis  hard  to  tell  what  we  may  need." 

"I  thank  thee,  messire,"  the  other  answered  gruffly.  "I 
care  for  leavetakings  no  more  than  thou.  If  Gaffer 
Lanyon  be  vexed  by  the  news  he  will  hear  this  day,  he 
will  drink  another  pottle  or  two  to-night,  and  to-morrow 
'twill  be  all  one ;  and  should  Cicely,  the  tanner's  daughter, 
be  moved  to  shed  some  few  tears,  there  are  fools  enow 
left  in  Bever  hamlet  to  dry  the  jilt's  blue  eyes.  I  wot  well 
that  London  is  thy  mark ;  so  let  us  forward,  as  soon  as 
thou  wilt.  The  roads  are  heavy  with  the  late  rains ;  yet 
thou  and  I  have  compassed  harder  journeys  than  shall 
bring  us  this  night  to  Tunbridge  town." 


52  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

"Then  do  thou  set  on  forthwith,"  Ralph  said.  "I  have 
yet  another  errand  to  do  here ;  and  I  would  speak  a  word 
to  my  foster-mother,  whose  cottage  lies  not  a  bowshot 
out  of  the  way.  I  will  overtake  thee  before  thou  comest 
to  these  crossroads." 

Lanyon  nodded  his  head,  and  went  forth  without 
further  question ;  while  the  other  turned  aside  into  a 
vaulted  passage  leading  to  the  base-court,  where  the 
sleuthbrache  was  kenneled.  Fay  was  lying  outstretched 
in  a  broad  bar  of  sunlight  that  fell  within  the  sweep  of 
her  chain.  She  was  still  looking  somewhat  sullen  and 
grim ;  but,  at  the  sound  of  her  master's  steps,  che  lifted 
her  head,  and  greeted  him  with  a  low  whine  of  pleasure ; 
she  was  quite  conscious  of  having  done  amiss,  and  longed 
to  show  penitence  in  her  own  way. 

Ralph  knelt  down  by  his  favorite  and  caressed  her, 
murmuring  in  her  ear  the  while : 

"Thou  mayst  not  bear  me  company ;  and  for  one  of 
thy  temper  homes  are  hard  to  find.  Lo !  I  come  to  do 
thee  the  last  good  office.  'The  halter' — did  he  say  ?  Nay 
— cold  steel  whenever  our  time  shall  come;  but  no  cord 
for  me  or  mine.  Brave  Fay,  staunch  Fay — kiss  me  once 
more." 

Slowly  and  half-reluctantly,  as  though  she  understood 
the  words,  and  guessed  what  was  a-coming,  the  great 
bloodhound  reared  herself,  till  her  tawny  jowl  and  black 
muzzle  rested  against  his  shoulder  and  cheek.  Ralph's 
eyes  were  not  misty  now,  but  glistening  wet ;  yet  he 
faltered  not  in  his  purpose  a  whit.  With  his  left  hand 
thrown  around  Fay's  neck,  he  felt  for  the  pulse  of  her 
heart,  whilst  his  right  drew  the  dagger  stealthily  from 
its  sheath,  and  drove  it  home — so  surely  that,  without  a 
howl  or  moan,  the  brache  slid  down  out  of  his  grasp, 
and,  after  a  single  convulsion,  lay  stone-still.  No  drop 
of  blood  followed,  till  Ralph  very  gently  and  heedfully 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  53 

drew  forth  the  blade ;  then,  despite  his  care,  some  three 
or  four  heavy  gouts  spirted  on  his  wrist,  leaving  broad 
dark  stains  on  the  green  sleeve  of  his  hanseline. 

And  these  things  were  so  quickly  done,  that  the  fore- 
most of  those  who  just  then  came  streaming  forth  out  of 
the  great  hall,  barely  caught  the  flutter  of  Ralph  Fitz- 
warenne's  short  mantle,  as  it  vanished  under  the  arch  of 
the  barbican. 

Over  the  youth's  interview  with  his  foster-mother  we 
here  need  not  linger ;  in  truth,  though  fond  even  to 
foolishness  on  one  side  at  least,  it  was  soon  ended.  Long 
before  Will  Lanyon  had  fully  gathered  his  sluggish  wits 
out  of  the  maze  into  which  they  had  wandered,  he  had 
been  overtaken  by  the  other ;  and  the  two  strode  on 
swiftly  side  by  side,  each  with  hunting-pole  in  hand. 

They  might  have  gone  some  league  or  so,  when  a  sharp 
turn  in  the  road  brought  them  face  to  face  with  three 
travelers,  one  of  whom  was  mounted,  whilst  the  other 
two  followed  afoot.  At  sight  of  these  Fitzwarenne  halted, 
looking  to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  as  though  he  would 
fain  have  avoided  the  meeting.  But  the  banks  on  either 
side  rose  steep  and  woody,  and  there  was  scarcely  foot- 
hold on  the  slippery  clay;  so  he  waited,  with  brows 
clouded  and  overcast,  till  the  others  drew  near. 

The  foremost  personage  has  been  painted  before.  It 
was  no  other  than  Hildebrand,  sometime  Sub-prior  of 
Haultvaux — now,  its  mitred  Abbot.  Twenty  years  had 
worked  little  change  in  his  keen  face  and  lean  frame; 
only  some  deep  lines  had  grown  into  furrows,  and  the 
strong  black  hair  round  the  tonsure  had  waxed  thin  and 
iron-grey;  but  the  braced  lips  were  resolute,  and  the 
glance  restless  as  ever.  The  very  mule  under  him  was 
characteristic  of  the  man.  Not  a  sleek,  pampered  ambler 
— such  an  one  as  hath  been  affected  by  all  saintly  dig- 
nitaries since  the  days  when  Jewish  rulers  rode  upon 


54  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

white  asses — but  a  gaunt,  sinewy  beast  with  a  red,  vicious 
eye,  whose  rough  action  would  have  suited  none  but 
hardened  bones — a  beast  that  would  have  tired  down 
many  knightly  coursers  between  sunrise  and  sundown ; 
and  its  long  stride — though  the  pace  was  scarce  beyond 
a  swift  walk — sorely  tried  the  wind  and  limb  of  the  two 
sturdy  lay  brethren  who,  with  frocks  girt  up  knee  high, 
followed  closely  as  they  might.  On  high  and  solemn 
occasions  few  surpassed  the  Abbot  of  Haultvaux  in  pomp 
or  parade ;  but,  when  bound  on  his  own  affairs,  he  cared 
for  none  of  such  vanities ;  and  now,  in  his  simple  riding- 
garb,  he  looked  rather  like  some  staid  franklin,  than  a 
spiritual  peer. 

Lanyon  made  low  obeisance  as  the  Abbot  drew  nigh ; 
but  Ralph  barely  touched  his  cap,  as  he  stood  aside  out  of 
the  narrow  roadway.  Yet  the  churchman  spoke  with  his 
wonted  cool  courtesy ;  never  noticing,  as  it  seemed,  the 
irreverence  of  the  youth's  salute. 

"We  give  thee  good-morrow,  fair  son.  On  whose 
business  art  thou  and  honest  Will  Lanyon  faring  forth? 
On  pleasure  ye  can  hardly  be  bent ;  since  'tis  no  weather 
yet  for  wrestling-match  or  quintain-play ;  and  thou  hast 
with  thee  neither  hawk  nor  hound.  Nevertheless,  thou 
wilt  be  home  ere  nightfall,  we  wot.  Wilt  thou  save  us 
time  and  trouble  by  delivering  to  our  good  friend,  Sir 
Simon  Dynevor,  a  brief  message  which  we  will  presently 
teach  thee?  For  we  have  far  to  ride  and  much  to  do  ere 
even-song." 

Fitzwarenne  looked  full  in  the  speaker's  face — always 
with  the  same  lowering  on  his  own. 

"I  am  forth  on  mine  own  business,"  he  answered,  "and 
for  junketing,  I  have  had  little  heart  of  late.  Also,  it 
will  be  long  ere  I  hollo  again  to  hawk  or  hound.  But 
your  lordship  must  seek  some  other  messenger  to  Bever 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  55 

than  Lanyon  or  myself ;  for  thither  do  I  return  no  more ; 
neither  will  he,  I  think,  for  many  a  month  to  come." 

"Is  it  even  so?"  the  Abbot  said,  bending  his  brows. 
"Truly,  we  boded  no  good  of  the  stubborn  temper  we  have 
noted  in  thee  of  late.  Hath  some  unhappy  brawl — Sancta 
Maria!  what  means  those  dark  stains  on  thy  sleeve?" 

"There  hath  been  no  brawl,"  the  other  replied;  "only 
the  clatter  of  some  shrill  shrewish  tongues ;  and  my  doub- 
let is  stained  with  no  redder  blood  than  that  of  a  trusty 
sleuthhound,  whom  I  slew  but  now  to  save  her  from  the 
halter.  Also,  I  go  forth  with  Sir  Simon  Dynevor's  good 
leave — if  that  may  advantage  me — and  we  parted,  not  in 
anger.  But  I  marvel  that  your  reverence's  mind  should 
cumber  itself  with  my  matters.  We,  too,  have  far  to  go 
ere  we  sleep,  and  under  your  favor,  we  have  dallied  here 
too  long." 

"Nay,  then,  we  detain  thee  not.  Draw  nearer,  my  son, 
and  bow  thine  head.  Though  it  were  more  seemly  for 
thee  to  crave,  than  for  us  to  proffer  it,  thou  shalt  not  lack 
our  blessing." 

And,  as  the  Abbot  spoke,  he  stretched  forth  his  right 
hand. 

Then  Ralph  Fitzwarenne  drew  himself  yet  more  erect; 
whilst  through  the  darkness  of  his  face  flashed  out 
enmity,  open  and  defiant. 

"Some  six  times,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  bitter  voice,  "have 
I  come  to  Haultvaux,  since  I  knew  evil  from  good — 
always  in  Simon  Dynevor's  company,  or  on  his  errands — 
but  I  never  broke  bread  nor  drank  water  there.  I  would 
liever  bear  the  burden  of  mine  own  sins,  than  have  them 
lightened  by  thee.  Do  I  not  know  how  and  where  the 
plot  was  hatched  that  robbed  my  mother  of  her  good 
name,  and  me  of  my  birthright?  'Twas  not  for  naught, 
that  the  landmarks  were  shifted  in  that  same  year. 
Marry — seeing  the  manner  of  man  he  was,  and  how  he 


56  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

was  outwitted  at  the  last — 'tis  wonder  that  my  grandsire 
should  rest  quiet  in  his  grave.  Lord  Abbot,  I  owe  thine 
order  a  shrewd  turn;  maybe  I  shall  repay  something 
thereof  ere  I  die.  Albeit,  the  heaviest  accompt  may  never 
be  cleared — the  accompt  betwixt  me  and  thee !" 

The  lay  brethren  crossed  themselves  in  devout  horror, 
and  Will  Lanyon's  ruddy  cheek  paled.  It  seemed  as 
though  all  three  expected  that  such  blasphemy  would 
draw  down  some  instant  manifestation  of  Heaven's  wrath. 
But  the  Abbot's  countenance  betrayed  neither  anger  nor 
surprise ;  and  his  lip  curled  in  a  cold,  disdainful  smile. 

"Thou  art  distraught — utterly  distraught  in  thy  folly. 
Granting  such  and  such  things  were  done  in  those  days, 
how  darest  thou  impute  either  the  shame  or  the  honor 
to  me  ?  Did  not  Abbot  Anselm — God  rest  his  soul ! — rule 
at  Haultvaux  then?  And  was  not  I  the  simple  Sub- 
prior?" 

"Go  to!"  the  other  retorted.  "Do  not  all  men  know 
that  the  holy  man's  heart  was  soft  as  his  brains ;  but  that, 
when  it  behoved  to  grind  the  poor  or  to  oppress  the  weak- 
ling, there  stood  a  wise  counselor  ever  close  to  his  ear? 
Good  father,  I  wis,  the  change  was  more  in  seeming  than 
in  truth,  when  thou  didst  don  alb  and  mitre." 

The  monk  bowed  his  head,  in  real  or  affected  humility. 

"Truly,  well  it  is  written — Beati  sunt  mortni.  For  not 
alone  do  those  blessed  ones  rest  from  their  labors,  but 
they  garner  all  the  grain  they  have  sown,  whilst  others 
must  needs  gather  in  the  tires.  Over  the  lintel  of  the 
fair  almshouses  yonder,  Abbot  Anselm's  name  is  graven ; 
and  in  the  prayers  of  twelve  devout  widows  it  will  be 
remembered  forever.  Yet  none  guessed  how  patiently 
and  long  I  strove  with  my  sainted  superior,  till  I  wrought 
upon  him  so  to  dispend  the  surplus  in  our  treasury; 
rather  than  set  another  rose-window  of  painted  glass  in 
our  church,  where  daylight  hath  trouble  enough  to  come 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  57 

already.  But,  if  aught  was  done  in  needful  severity — and 
the  Church  must  needs  smite  sometimes  as  well  as  heal — 
against  whom  murmurs  all  the  country-side?  'Out  on 
the  Sub-prior !'  they  say ;  'may  God  requite  him  this ! 
Doth  not  his  face  bewray  that  his  heart  is  as  the  nether 
millstone?'  Had  Hildebrand  been  a  portly  priest,  with  a 
moist  eye  and  a  cheerful  countenance,  perchance  he  had 
lacked  no  man's  good  word.  But  let  these  things  pass. 
It  is  not  well  that  thou  and  I  speak  further  together ;  for 
I  can  profit  thee  naught.  Nay — more — thou  might'st  be 
provoked  into  uttering  what  might  hardly  be  atoned  for. 
So  pass  on  in  peace.  I  would  say  a  few  words  to  this 
stout  follower  of  thine,  which  I  trust  thou  wilt  not 
hinder." 

As,  with  another  slight  salute,  Fitzwarenne  strode 
slowly  away,  the  Abbot  urged  his  mule  some  ten  paces 
forward,  so  as  to  be  beyond  ear-shot  of  the  lay  brethren, 
and  beckoned  Lanyon  to  his  side. 

"Look  not  so  scared,  good  fellow,"  he  said ;  "nor  think 
that  the  rash  speech  of  yonder  misguided  youth  hath 
chafed  us,  or  that  we  bear  malice  thereat.  Truly,  an  evil 
ensample  were  we  to  our  flock,  if  we  could  not  suffer 
patiently  a  greater  wrong.  Nay,  I  would  serve  thy 
master — for  such  must  he  be  henceforward — in  despite 
of  himself ;  and  of  this  shalt  thou  presently  have  proof. 
Do  thou  hold  the  mule's  bridle — 'tis  a  skittish  beast,  and 
may  not  be  left  to  its  own  devices." 

With  that,  the  Abbot  undid  a  pouch  hanging  at  his 
right  side,  in  which  were  several  compartments  for  differ- 
ent kinds  of  coin ;  and,  further,  in  the  inner  lining  a 
small  pocket  so  cunningly  concealed  that  it  might  have 
escaped  a  careful  scrutiny.  In  this  were  four  or  five 
broad  thinnish  pieces  of  gold ;  evidently  bezants  beaten 
out  with  a  hammer,  till  no  trace  was  left  of  effigy  or 
legend.  On  one  of  these,  with  a  sharp  penknife  drawn 


58  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

from  another  case  holding  writing  implements,  the  priest 
proceeded  to  grave  certain  lines  and  dots,  till  the  result 
was  something  resembling  an  ancient  musical  score,  ex- 
cept that  the  dots  were  in  the  spaces  instead  of  upon  the 
lines,  as  thus : — 


While  these  things  were  a-doing,  a  certain  distrust 
mingled  with  the  wonder  of  Lanyon's  broad  grey  eyes,  as 
though  he  had  been  watching  some  wizard  at  his  work. 

"It  is  no  charm,  thou  simpleton,"  the  Abbot  said  scorn- 
fully, though  not  unkindly,  as  though  aware  of  the  other's 
suspicions.  "Know  that  the  Holy  Church  dealeth  not  in 
such  matters,  leaving  spell  and  talisman  to  the  misbeliev- 
ing magicians.  Nevertheless,  do  thou  hang  this  token 
around  thy  neck  ere  thou  sleep,  and  keep  it — secretly  as 
thou  mayst — with  no  less  care  than  if  it  were  relic  of 
saint  or  martyr ;  for  much  may  it  advantage  thee  in  for- 
eign lands,  to  which,  I  guess,  ye  both  are  bound.  Thou 
comest  of  the  right  bull-dog  breed,  and  wilt  never  be  far 
from  thy  master's  heel  in  weather  fair  or  foul ;  so  that  if 
he  lie  in  sore  peril,  thou  thyself  mayst  be  in  as  evil  case. 
Now,  mark.  If  ye  be  come  to  such  a  pass  that  there  is  no 
hope  of  help  from  man,  and  ye  have  brief  time  to  make 
your  peace  with  God,  do  thou  show  this  gold  piece  to  the 
priest  that  shall  shrive  thee ;  adjuring  him,  by  his  vow  of 
charity,  to  carry  it  straight  to  his  Superior,  or  the  church- 
man highest  in  authority  that  shall  chance  to  be  near.  If 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  59 

the  token  be  discerned  by  one  who  hath  the  power  of  life 
and  death,  or  whose  intercession  may  avail,  I  dare  aver 
that  ye  shall  both  go  forth,  for  that  once,  scot-free.  Ay, 
though — which  Heaven  in  its  mercy  forfend! — there  be 
holy  blood  on  your  hands,  or  the  guilt  of  sacrilege  upon 
your  souls.  But  use  this  warily,  and  only  at  uttermost 
need  ;  for  thou  canst  not  use  it  twice.  'Tis  but  a  chance — 
it  may  be  that  thou  wilt  fall  in  brawl  or  battle  before  thy 
master,  and  yonder  coin  may  swell  some  camp-follower's 
plunder.  But  all  this  life  of  ours  is  made  up  of  what  men 
call  chances.  What  we  have  said  thou  mayst  carry  to  thy 
master,  if  thou  wilt ;  yet  thou  wilt  keep  thine  own  counsel 
for  awhile,  if  thou  art  wise ;  it  may  be,  in  his  stubborn- 
ness, he  would  reject  our  good  offices.  Should  he  speak 
of  these  things  with  better  understanding  in  the  after- 
time,  thou  mayst  tell  him  all ;  and  tell  him,  moreover,  that 
he  hath  not  been  forgotten  in  Hildebrand's  prayers.  Thou 
art  not  too  proud  to  receive  our  benison ;  take  it,  and  go 
thy  way  with  good  hope  and  courage." 

With  a  few  muttered  thanks,  Will  Lanyon  took  his 
humble  leave,  and  made  haste  to  overtake  his  master ; 
whilst  the  Abbot  also  set  forward  at  a  much  slower  pace 
than  he  was  wont  to  ride — musing,  it  seemed,  as  he  went. 

"What  said  the  shaveling  to  thee  ?"  Ralph  asked,  as  the 
other  came  up. 

"He  gave  me  much  good  counsel,  and  one  piece  of 
gold,"  Lanyon  answered. 

None  could  have  guessed  at  any  secret  behind  that 
simple,  stolid  face ;  and  Ralph  forbore  any  further  ques- 
tion. Indeed,  right  little  was  said  during  all  that  long 
day's  journey ;  for  of  those  wayfarers  one  was  by  nature 
exceeding  taciturn,  and  the  other  busy  with  his  own 
thoughts.  But  they  reached  Tunbridge  town  ere  sunset ; 
and  were  on  their  road  again  early  on  the  morrow,  with- 
out aught  having  befallen  them  worthy  of  record. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

BRAKESPEARE. 


HOUR  after  hour  those  two  journeyed  on,  com- 
passing hill  and  dale,  rough  and  smooth,  with 
the  same  swift,  level  pace,  and  breaking  silence 
only  at  rare  intervals  with  some  trivial  question 
or  answer.  Long  before  noon  they  had  risen  the  crest  of 
the  Westerham  downs,  and  were  deep  in  the  beechwoods 
that  fringed — then  as  now — the  steep  chalk-hills.  At 
mid-day  they  made  brief  halt  by  a  wayside  spring  to 
refresh  themselves  with  the  provender  Lanyon  carried  in 
his  wallet. 

Like  most  other  Normans  of  pure  descent,  Fitzwarenne 
was  sparing  both  in  his  eating  and  drinking.  His  meal 
was  finished  before  his  companion's  appetite  was  half 
appeased.  After  bathing  hands  and  lips  carefully  in  the 
running  stream,  he  said : 

"Will  Lanyon,  two  things  have  I  noted  in  thee,  not 
without  some  wonder.  Since  we  crossed  the  drawbridge 
yestermorn,  never  once  hast  thou  turned  thy  face  back- 
ward, were  it  but  for  a  single  glance  over  thy  shoulder ; 
and,  furthermore,  thou  hast  never  questioned  me  con- 
cerning mine  intents,  or  whither  we  wend  when  we  set 
forth  again  from  London  town." 

"Good  faith,  messire,"  the  other  answered  gruffly,  with- 
out breaking  off  the  play  of  his  busy  jaws,  "there  is  little 
cause  for  wonderment.  Wherefore  should  I  look  back, 
when  I  leave  naught  behind  but  trouble ;  and  wherefore 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  6l 

pester  thee  with  questions  as  to  our  road,  when  all  are 
alike  to  me,  so  they  lead  not  homeward  again  ?  My  good 
lord,  your  father,  hath  bestowed  on  me  certain  wage, 
which  I  would  fain  work  out  honestly.  I  wot  well,  it  will 
not  please  you  to  tarry  idling  long.  Beyond  the  narrow 
seas  there  is  most  a-doing ;  therefore  I  guess  we  shall 
cross  them  anon." 

"Thou  art  wiser  or  hardier  than  I,"  Fitzwarenne  re- 
plied. "If  mine  eyes  traveled  not  backward,  my  thoughts 
did  so  oftener  than  I  care  to  own.  Also,  thou  hast 
guessed  rightly  that  I  am  heart-sick  of  tilt-play,  and 
would  fain  hear  shivering  of  grinded  spears.  There  will 
be  naught  stirring  yet  awhile  in  Borderland ;  for  the  Scots 
wolves  lie  licking  their  wounds,  and  will  scarce  make 
sally  whilst  they  are  stiff  and  sore.  But  King  Edward 
still  holds  Calais  in  leaguer ;  from  thence  down  to 
Languedoc  there  is  work  enow  for  all  such  as  cry,  'St. 
George  Guienne.'  There  were  shrewd  gaps  made  in 
many  companies  at  Cregy ;  and,  if  we  attain  not  to  serve 
under  Chandos  or  Manny,  other  good  knights  may  well 
lack  an  archer  and  a  man-at-arms.  Hearken,  now.  I 
have  pondered  on  many  things  during  this  our  journey, 
and  thus  far  my  purpose  is  fixed.  If  thou  goest  to  the 
French  wars,  thou  goest  not  thither  with  Ralph  Fitz- 
warenne." 

Lanyon's  light  blue  eyes  opened  to  their  widest;  the 
blankness  of  utter  discomfiture  overspread  his  bluff  face ; 
then  it  began  to  lower,  and  his  tone  was  hoarse  and  sullen. 

"You  will  do  your  pleasure,  messire.  I  force  myself  on 
no  man's  company ;  neither  do  I  fear  but  that  I  shall  be 
hired  readily  enow.  Yet  would  I  hear  what  fault  of  mine 
hath  brought  me  into  this  quick  disfavor." 

Fitzwarenne  laughed  a  low,  genial  laugh — the  pleas- 
anter,  perchance,  because  it  came  so  rarely — as  he  smote 
the  speaker  lightly  on  the  shoulder. 


62  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

"I  take  shame  to  myself  for  paltering  with  thee,  were 
it  but  for  an  instant.  Am  I  a  priest,  too,  that  I  should 
speak  in  parables?  Thou  hast  cast  in  thy  lot  with  mine, 
and  we  sink  or  swim  together,  so  long  as  thou  carest  to 
follow  my  fortunes  ;  they  will  be  neither  made  nor  marred 
by  what  I  purpose  to  do.  Ralph  Warenne  was  a  good 
knight  and  a  charitable — God  rest  his  soul!  Had  he 
lived  on,  I  had  been  other  than  I  am,  and  well  content  to 
wear  till  death  the  name  he  gave  me ;  but  to  none  other 
of  that  kith  and  kin  do  I  owe  even  a  careless  kindly  word. 
Therefore,  I  care  not  to  carry  longer  the  surname  that 
keeps  alive  my  mother's  wrong  and  mine — I  will  change 
it  so  soon  as  I  come  across  a  better.  If  this  displeases 
thee,  speak  thy  mind  frankly  and  fairly ;  yet,  if  I  read  thee 
aright,  thou  followest  not  the  title,  but  the  man." 

The  cloud  cleared  from  Lanyon's  countenance  more 
rapidly  than  it  had  settled  there,  and  he  grinned  in  broad 
simple  glee. 

"I  was  wittol  not  to  guess  thou  wert  jesting,  messire. 
Take  what  name  thou  wilt,  so  it  be  one  that  Christian 
may  bear,  or  English  lips  speak  without  stumbling.  I 
warrant  I  soon  shall  like  it  as  well  as  the  old  one,  or 
better.  Yea,  if  it  please  the  saints,  others  shall  know  it, 
too,  an'  they  like  it  not,  before  our  beards  are  grey. 
'Twould  be  rare  sport  should  we  ride  through  Bever 
hamlet  in  the  aftertime — thou  a  belted  knight  and  I  thine 
esquire,  leading  a  stout  clump  of  spears." 

"Tush,"  the  other  answered  half  angrily ;  yet  he  smiled 
as  he  sprang  lightly  to  his  feet.  "Pratest  thou  thus  to 
one  who  hath  never  seen  color  of  blood  shed  in  anger? 
Old  Dynevor  spoke — sooth — 'Cravens  come  not  of  our 
stock' ;  nevertheless,  I  profess  to  thee,  I  would  my  first 
stricken  field  were  over,  that  I  might  know  how  I  shall 
bear  myself  under  shield.  But  wishing,  no  more  than 
fearing,  brings  the  proof-time  near.  Let  us  forward. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  63 

Thou  art  ready,  I  see ;  for,  if  thy  stomach  be  not  full,  thy 
wallet  is  empty.  I  would  be  in  Southwark  ere  sunset." 

Lanyon  bent  down  and  drank  deep  of  the  stream,  lap- 
ping quick  and  noisily,  like  a  thirsty  hound ;  then  he,  too, 
arose,  shaking  the  drops  from  his  bushy  beard,  and  fol- 
lowed the  other,  who  had  already  moved  some  paces  away. 

Thenceforward,  without  let  or  stay,  the  wayfarers 
marched  steadily  on ;  but  the  day  was  waning  fast  as  they 
entered  the  outskirts  of  the  suburb.  A  chill,  gloomy 
March  evening — with  threat  of  wilder  weather  yet,  in  the 
sharp,  sudden  gusts  that  brawled  round  gable  and  chim- 
ney, and  whistled  through  the  masts  and  cords  of 
shipping,  breaking  the  brown  water  into  foamy  wavelets 
as  it  met  the  strong  ebb  tide ;  and  in  the  lurid  western  sky, 
against  which  the  towers  of  the  great  Abbey  stood  out 
black  and  frowningly — an  evening  that  would  have 
caused  most  travelers  to  hurry  on  toward  roof-bield. 

Yet  Ralph  Fitzwarenne,  who  had  slackened  his  pace 
gradually  during  the  last  hour,  loitered  more  and  more,  as 
though  loath  to  reach  his  journey's  end.  It  was  not  the 
awkward  uncertainty  of  finding  himself  in  a  place  utterly 
strange  that  caused  him  thus  to  dally ;  for  he  had  ridden 
once  forward  and  backward  through  Southwark  in  his 
father's  train,  on  their  way  to  and  from  the  herbegage 
beyond  Thames,  where  Dynevor  was  wont  to  abide;  and 
Ralph  possessed,  to  a  rare  degree,  the  quick  eye  and 
tenacious  memory  for  passing  objects,  which  in  some, 
form  as  it  were  a  sixth  sense.  He  had  already  settled 
that  they  should  lie  that  night  at  the  sign  of  the  "Spur,"  a 
modest  hostel  of  no  mean  repute ;  so  he  walked  on  slowly, 
heeding  not  the  clamor,  hoarse  or  shrill,  of  the  wayside 
vagrants,  who  had  crawled  forth  from  purlieus  round  the 
Clink  to  ply  their  trade  of  theft  or  beggary,  till  night 
should  send  them  with  less  unclean  beasts,  to  lie  down 
in  their  dens.  Neither  did  Fitzwarenne  seem  to  notice 


64  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

the  keen  malevolent  glances  lighting  on  them  as  they 
passed  certain  alehouses,  round  the  doors  of  which  evil- 
looking  men  were  lounging,  with  "cut-purse,"  or  "cut- 
throat," written  on  every  line  of  their  villainous  faces  ; 
though  from  these  groups,  more  than  once,  two  or  three 
detached  themselves,  following  stealthily  in  the  track  of 
the  strangers,  till  a  look  out  of  Lanyon's  wary  eye,  and  a 
yet  more  significant  movement  of  his  quarter-staff,  made 
them  slink  back  hastily  ;  though  the  game  was  fair,  it  was 
too  fierce  and  big  for  such  curs  to  meddle  with. 

The  travelers  might  have  advanced  some  three  hundred 
paces  up  Kentish  street  —  so  the  main  thoroughfare  into 
Southwark  from  the  country  was  then  called  —  when 
Ralph,  who,  despite  his  reverie,  had  not  ceased  to  glance 
to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  came  to  a  full  halt  where  the 
red  light  from  a  forge  streamed  across  the  already  dark- 
ening roadway. 

A  low  two-storied  house,  with  more  lead  than  glass  in 
the  diamond  panes  of  its  upper  windows,  but  wealth  of 
wood  in  the  projecting  beams  and  broad  brown  eaves, 
under  which  there  was  shelter  from  sun  or  shower  ;  whilst 
a  sort  of  pent-house  shielded  the  forge  from  the  full  in- 
draught of  the  outer  air  ;  against  the  wall  over  this  was 
nailed  a  helmet  of  a  fashion  now  out  of  date  —  so  dark 
with  rust  that  one  could  only  guess  of  what  metal  it  was 
wrought  ;  and  above  the  lintel  were  carved,  in  rough, 
straggling  letters,  these  three  words  : 


,  Jlrmourer. 

There  was  the  cheeriness  of  light  and  warmth  that  has 
made  the  smithy  the  favorite  resort  for  idlers  since  the 
time  of  Tubal  Cain  ;  and  cheery  sounds,  too,  came  from 
within,  as  two  or  three  voices  chanted  snatches  of  a  rude 
ditty  that  chimed  in  pleasantly  enough  with  the  ring  of 
hammers.  But  not  in  these  sights  and  sounds  seemed  to 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  65 

lie  the  attraction  that  kept  the  youth  standing  there  with 
his  eyes  fixed  steadfastly  on  the  legend  over  the  lintel. 

Just  then  the  master-armorer  glanced  up  from  his 
work,  and  guessing  with  quick  trader's  instinct  at  a  likely 
customer  in  one,  at  least,  of  the  pair  that  were  lingering 
without,  thrust  the  half- forged  steel  into  the  water-trough, 
and  came  quickly  to  the  front.  He  was  a  broad,  burly 
man,  something  past  middle  age,  with  a  merry  eye  and 
full,  moist  mouth,  whose  smile — ready,  yet  not  a  whit 
servile — twinkled  through  soot  and  grime. 

"Give  you  good  even,  fair  sir,"  he  said  in  a  deep,  mel- 
low voice,  the  first  sounds  of  which  made  one  think  in- 
voluntarily of  the  good  liquors  that  make  glad  the  heart. 
"Doth  your  worship,  or  yon  stout  follower  of  thine,  lack 
aught  in  which  John  Brakespeare  can  serve  ye?  These 
are  not  times  in  which  such  thews  and  sinews  as  yours 
lie  idle.  Mine  own  fighting  days  are  done ;  yet  can  I  tell 
a  right  man-at-arms  within  a  bowshot — marry,  'tis  no 
marvel ;  I  have  taken  measure  oft  enow  of  such — I  know 
naught  of  my  craft,  if  ye  both  are  not  bound  to  the  wars. 
I  deal  not  in  the  cunning  work  of  Milan,  yet  can  I  give  ye 
honest  ware.  Prove  bascinet  or  hauberk  with  axe  or 
sword-dent;  if  ye  can  make  more  damage  than  mine 
hammer  can  amend  within  the  hour,  our  bargain  is 
naught,  and  I  am  a  lying  cozener." 

The  direction  of  Ralph  Fitzwarenne's  eyes  was 
changed;  for  the  last  minute  or  so  they  had  rested 
thoughtfully  on  the  speaker's  face.  He  seemed  pleased 
with  what  he  saw  there,  for  he  answered  with  more  cour- 
tesy than  was  his  wont — he  was  generally  rather  cold  and 
reserved  with  strangers. 

"Truly,  good  armorer,  thou  has  guessed  partly  aright, 
albeit  thou  doest  us  both  over  much  honor.  It  shames 

me  to  aver  that  neither  I  nor  this  my  comrade  has  as 
yet  drawn  blade  in  fair  fight ;  nevertheless,  it  is  our  pur- 


66  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

pose  to  take  service  in  the  French  wars.  In  such  a  case 
I  doubt  not  thou  canst  purvey  me  with  harness  such  as  a 
man  may  well  trust  unto  whose  life  is  better  worth  the 
keeping  than  mine  is  like  to  be.  But  of  this  ware  we  will 
speak  anon ;  I  have  somewhat  else  to  say  unto  thee  now. 
Come  thou  hither  with  me,  without ;  I  have  some  score  of 
words  for  thine  ear." 

There  came  a  great  wonder,  and  perchance  the  faint- 
est shade  of  distrust,  on  the  armorer's  jovial  face.  Yet  he 
hesitated  not  to  do  as  he  was  bidden ;  but,  laying  his 
brawny  hands  on  the  window-ledge,  vaulted  into  the 
street  with  a  nimbleness  surprising  for  his  weight  and 
years.  Fitzwarenne  took  him  by  the  arm  and  led  him 
some  few  paces  backward  from  the  spot  where  Lanyon 
leant  on  his  quarter-staff  in  stolid  patience,  as  having 
concern  with  none  of  these  things. 

"Thou  seest  that?" — Ralph  asked,  pointing  tio  the 
legend  on  which  his  own  glance  had  lately  been  riveted. 
"Yon  is  thy  name?" 

"Surely  I  see  it,"  the  other  answered — still  with  the 
same  puzzled  look ;  "and  have  seen  it  most  days  since 
first  I  crawled  over  yonder  threshold.  My  father  carved 
it — rest  his  soul!  He  and  my  grandsire — marry,  my 
great  grandsire,  for  aught  I  know — have  borne  the  same 
name.  It  hath  brought  us  no  great  wealth,  God  wot,  and 
no  greater  honor  than  that  of  honest  craftsmen  living  by 
their  toil ;  but  the  goodwife  hath  never  lacked  a  Sunday 
kirtle,  and  the  brats  have  meat  enow  to  make  them  thrive, 
and  I  have  ever  a  pottle  of  ale  for  a  neighbor,  or  a  cup  of 
sack  of  holidays.  So  I  know  not  why  I  should  grumble 
or  make  moan.  But  wherefore  is  your  worship  curious 
concerning  that  poor  name  of  ours  ?" 

"Because  I  am  aweary  of  mine  own,"  Fitzwarenne 
answered,  "and  would  fain  change  it.  Thou  knowest 
naught  of  me,  and  may  believe  or  disbelieve,  as  thou  wilt. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  67 

But  I  swear  to  thee,  by  the  Holy  Rood,  that  not  for  fear 
or  felony  would  I  do  this.  Thy  name  caught  mine  eye  as 
I  passed,  and  it  pleased  me  well.  'Tis  a  fitting  one  to  bear 
where  hard  blows  are  going.  Lo,  I  proffer  thee  no 
guerdon — such  things  are  not  bought  and  sold — yet  I 
dare  aver  that,  if  I  bring  no  great  credit  to  thy  name,  I 
will  bring  it  to  no  dishonor." 

He  drew  himself  up  as  he  spoke,  with  a  gesture  neither 
boastful  nor  defiant,  but  full  of  self-reliance  and  loyalty. 
John  Brakespeare,  who,  in  the  course  of  his  trade,  had 
stood  face  to  face  with  many  knights  and  nobles,  thought 
that  he  never  had  looked  on  a  more  gallant  bearing. 
The  last  spark  of  suspicion  vanished  from  his  honest 
heart,  but  some  simple  wonderment  still  remained. 

"  'Tis  a  quaint  fancy,"  he  said,  thrusting  back  the 
thick,  tangled  hair  that  fell  low  over  his  brows ;  "nathless 
I  wis  it  covers  no  malfeasance,  and  I  care  not  to  baulk  it. 
'Tis  a  tough,  workday  name  enough ;  though,  I  warrant 
me,  less  high  sounding  than  what  your  worship  has  borne 
heretofore.  I  am  no  wizard,  to  read  the  lines  of  hands  or 
faces;  yet  would  I  wager  a  harness  of  proof  against  an 
archer's  hacqueton,  that  no  drop  of  churl's  blood  runs  in 
your  veins." 

Ralph's  brown  cheek  flushed  a  little  as  he  made  reply : 

"Gramercy  for  thy  courtesy.  Thou  shalt  hear  of  my 
lineage — the  more  readily  that  thou  hast  asked  never  a 
question  thereanent.  My  mother  was  cousin  to  Sir  Hugh 
Warenne — who,  in  the  first  year  of  this  reign,  died  gal- 
lantly under  shield,  by  the  hand,  men  say,  of  the  Black 
Douglas.  She  was  wedded,  with  all  due  rite,  to  Dynevor 
of  Bever,  though  that  wedlock  the  Church  saw  fit  to  dis- 
allow on  plea  that  they  were  within  the  degrees ;  and 
from  her  death  up  to  this  hour  have  I  been  nurtured  at  his 
charges.  But  yestermorn  set  me  free  of  all  duty  to 
Pynevor,  and  lightened  him,  I  trow,  of  a  weary  burden. 


68  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

I  am  adrift  now,  like  a  skiff  on  the  deep  sea,  and  hence- 
forward forever  I  have  neither  kith  nor  kin.  So — going 
forth  to  do  my  devoir,  as  I  hope,  and  fighting  for  mine 
own  hand — I  would  fain  carry  a  name  bearing  not  the 
brand  of  bastardy.  Hast  thou  my  meaning,  or  is  there 
aught  thou  wouldst  have  made  more  clear?" 

The  armorer  doffed  bonnet,  and  made  a  rough  obeis- 
ance. 

"I  thank  your  worship,  I  have  learned  all  that  I  care  to 
know.  I  mind  Sir  Hugh  Warenne  well,  and  certain  ink- 
lings of  yonder  sad  tale  came  to  mine  ears ;  or  I  had 
dealings  with  some  of  his  household.  I  saw  that  arma- 
ment set  out  that  fared  so  ill  in  the  North ;  and  I  mind 
well  how  starkly  the  old  knight  reigned  his  destrier,  as  he 
rode  close  on  our  boy-king's  right  hand.  Marry,  there 
was  great  dolor  and  moan  when  men  knew  that  he  should 
come  back  no  more.  'Bastard' — said  ye  ?  By  Saint  Bene- 
dict! there  lives  not  belted  earl  betwixt  Thames  and 
Tyne,  that  can  boast  of  gentler  blood.  Take  my  name, 
sith  it  pleases  you,  and  the  saints  send  you  luck  therewith ! 
Never,  I  wot,  since  my  great  grandsire  was  enfranchised, 
had  'Brakespeare'  such  chance  of  coming  to  honor." 

Ralph  held  out  his  hand,  which  the  other,  though  he 
drew  back  at  first,  took  and  wrung  heartily. 

"Then  so  shall  it  be.  I  lie  at  the  'Spur'  to-night ;  come 
thou  thither  at  thy  leisure,  and  we  will  drink  a  stoup  of 
right  Bourdeaux  wine  over  this  our  bargain,  which  in 
sooth  will  profit  thee  but  little.  Tush,  man" — he  broke  in 
impatiently,  seeing  that  the  other  was  still  oppressed  by 
some  shy  diffidence — "knowest  thou  not  that  I  am 
'Brakespeare'  for  evermore,  and  have  no  more  to  do  with 
Dynevor  and  Warenne  than  thou?  Thou  hast  had  many 
choicer  boon  companions  than  one  who  has  far  to  climb 
ere  he  reach  esquire's  estate.  Furthermore,  I  would 
speak  with  thee  concerning  the  matters  whereof  I  shall 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  69 

have  need  so  soon  as  I  have  taken  service.  It  may  be 
that  I  set  forth  at  brief  notice,  and  with  scant  time  for 
furnishing.  No  more  words — I  shall  expect  thee  anon." 

With  a  wave  of  his  hand,  Ralph  turned  on  his  heel  to 
rejoin  his  patient  follower.  The  gesture  was  friendly  and 
familiar  enough,  yet  slightly  imperious  withal,  as  of  one 
wont  to  see  his  bidding  done  undisputedly.  And  so  the 
honest  armorer  interpreted  it,  as  he  stood  looking  wist- 
fully after  the  tall  figure  receding  fast  up  the  dusky 
street. 

"I  may  not  say  him  nay,"  he  muttered ;  "but — for  all 
his  fair  words — such  company  is  not  for  the  like  of  John 
Brakespeare.  I  warrant  me,  I  shall  feel  as  if  they  had  set 
me  down  at  our  good  bishop's  table  above  the  salt.  By 
Saint  Benedict,  a  proper  youth!  Bastard  or  no  bastard, 
one  would  have  thought  ne'er  a  father  in  England  but 
would  have  been  proud  of  such  a  son ;  either  the  wenches 
are  blind  in  the  Weald,  or  he  must  have  left  some  sore 
hearts  behind  him.  If  God  will,  I  shall  hear  great  news 
of  him  ere  I  die.  There  is  work  enow  done  for  the  nonce. 
I  will  go  cleanse  me  of  this  grime,  and  don  my  holiday 
doublet  and  hosen,  so  that  I  shame  yonder  gallant  as 
little  as  I  may." 

"Mark  ye  well,"  Ralph  said  to  his  companion,  who 
walked  close  to  his  shoulder ;  "I  am  Fitzwarenne  no  more, 
but  Brakespeare  by  surname  to  thee  and  all  others  whom 
it  may  concern.  Canst  thou  learn  the  trick  of  it,  so  that 
thou  keep  thy  tongue  from  slipping?" 

"I  will  take  good  heed,  messire,"  the  other  answered, 
betraying  no  whit  of  surprise.  "  'Tis  a  simple  word 
enough ;  and  my  tongue  wags  not  so  fast  that  it  should 
babble  astray." 

Almost  as  those  last  words  were  spoken,  they  came  to 
their  journey's  end,  and  strode  in  through  a  low-browed 
archway  into  the  courtyard  of  the  "Spur." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  SIGN  OF  THE  "SPUR." 

UPPER  was  over  in  the  common  room  of  the 
hostel,  and  the  guests — not  numerous,  as  it 
chanced,  on  that  especial  night — had  broken  up 
into  groups  ;  some  lingering  at  the  board  where 
they  had  eaten,  others  clustering  at  small  tables,  drawn 
nearer  the  hearth.  The  logs  that  burned  bravely  were 
useful  otherwise  than  for  warmth ;  or  the  great  chamber, 
with  its  dusky  walls  and  blackened  beams,  would  have 
looked  gloomy  enough,  lighted  only  by  three  or  four  of 
the  clumsy  oil  lamps  called  mortiers,  and  by  the  rude 
torch-candles  fixed  on  spikes  on  either  side  the  doorway, 
that  swirled  and  guttered  in  the  frequent  draughts. 

In  the  nook  formed  by  the  outer  angle  of  the  huge 
projecting  chimney,  and  so  somewhat  in  the  shadow,  sat 
Ralph  and  his  guest,  the  armorer — a  mighty  stoup  of 
Bourdeaux  wine  betwixt  them  ;  whilst  on  a  settle  hard  by, 
Lanyon  dozed  in  that  half  stupor  that,  when  no  care 
keeps  men  wakeful,  comes  pleasantly  to  the  hardiest  way- 
farer after  long  travel  and  a  hearty  meal.  The  good 
liquor  had  thawed  the  craftsman's  shyness  and  unloosed 
his  tongue ;  so  he  was  ready  enough  in  answering  to  the 
best  of  his  power  the  other's  questions,  and  in  tendering 
his  advice. 

"An'  ye  would  be  ruled  by  me,  messire,  ye  would  not  be 
hasty  in  taking  service  with  the  first  that  shall  make 
proffer.  There  be  some  who  adventure  themselves  in 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  71 

i 
these  wars  overmuch  for  plunder's  sake ;  and  with  such 

little  honor  is  to  be  gotten,  even  if  they  'scape  the  shame. 
I  have  accointance  with  certain  knights  and  barons — 
always  in  the  course  of  trade — who  might  serve  thy  turn 
bravely.  But  right  few  of  such,  I  wot,  are  now  on  the 
hither  side  of  the  narrow  seas ;  for  there  is  work  enow  in 
Guienne  for  all  the  lances  that  our  king  can  spare  from 
Calais  leaguer.  Truly,  there  is  Sir  Walter  Rokeby — a  leal 
knight  and  stalwart — who  is  now  at  his  lodging  beyond 
Thames,  scarce  healed  of  the  sore  hurt  he  gat  at  Neville's 
Cross.  It  may  be  he  will  be  setting  forth  ere  long ;  I  war- 
rant me  he  will  tarry  at  home  not  an  hour  after  he  hath 
leech's  leave  to  sit  in  saddle.  Peradventure,  my  good 
word  may  profit  you  somewhat ;  for  Sir  Walter  hath 
shown  me  no  small  kindness,  and  calls  me  ever  his  trusty 
armorer." 

Whilst  Ralph  thanked  the  friendly  speaker,  the  heavy 
door  at  the  further  end  of  the  guest-chamber  swung  open 
quickly,  as  though  thrust  inward  by  a  strong,  hasty  hand ; 
causing  the  decent  merchants  and  franklins,  who  formed 
the  greater  part  of  the  company,  to  start  from  their  grave 
converse  or  quiet  games  of  tables  to  look  at  the  newcomer. 
In  truth  he  was  one  to  whom  few  men,  and  fewer  women, 
would  have  denied  a  second  glance,  if  only  for  his  mar- 
velous beauty.  His  face  was  a  pure  oval  with  a  com- 
plexion of  clear  pale  olive,  features  straight  and  finely 
chiseled,  a  mouth  nearly  perfect  in  form,  though  not  in 
expression,  and  long,  lustrous  dark  eyes,  naturally  lan- 
guid, but  flashing  out  at  times  with  animal  ferocity.  He 
was  tall  and  powerful  of  frame,  without  the  angular 
squareness  which  usually  accompanies  great  strength ; 
and  one  would  hardly  have  guessed  at  the  stark  muscle 
and  sinew  hidden  under  the  delicate  rounding  of  joint 
and  limb.  His  dress  of  rich  murrey  cloth  was  of  a  for- 
eign fashion,  and  not  disfigured  by  sleeves  of  preposter- 


72  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

ous  length,  or  any  other  of  the  fantastic  fopperies  in 
which  the  English  gallants  of  that  time  were  prone  to 
indulge ;  while  the  careful  trimming  and  studied  arrange- 
ment of  his  silky  beard  and  wavy  hair — both  of  an  intense 
blue-black — showed  that  the  possessor  of  such  rare  per- 
sonal advantages  was  disposed  to  make  use  of  them  to 
the  uttermost. 

He  was  evidently  not  quite  a  stranger  to  some  present 
there ;  for,  as  he  entered,  there  was  a  kind  of  flutter  and 
murmur  amongst  certain  of  the  staid  burghers,  betok- 
ening distrust  and  dislike  with  perchance  a  shade  of  fear, 
just  as  you  may  see  a  whole  rookery  thrown  into  tumult 
by  the  sudden  appearance  of  a  sparrow-hawk. 

It  was  manifest,  too,  that  something  had  ruffled  the 
newcomer's  humor,  as  he  swung  up  the  centre  of  the 
guest-chamber,  glancing  half  insolently,  half  defiantly,  to 
the  right  and  to  the  left;  and  cast  himself  down  on  the 
settle,  in  the  corner  corresponding  to  that  where  Ralph 
Brakespeare  was  sitting;  never  deigning  to  notice  the 
courtesy  of  the  meek  artisan  who  yielded  place  to  him 
hastily.  Then  he  called  for  a  stoup  of  Muscadine ;  and, 
long  before  it  could  have  been  brought,  cursed  the  drawer 
for  dallying — in  fair  English  enough,  though  with  a  soft 
foreign  accent.  When  the  liquor  came,  he  fell  to  drink- 
ing, not  in  quick,  greedy  gulps,  but  daintily  and  slowly, 
savoring  each  drop  as  it  glided  over  his  palate. 

The  stout  armorer  glanced  at  the  stranger  from  under 
his  brows  with  evident  disfavor. 

"Whom  have  we  here?"  he  grumbled.  "One  of  a 
marvelous  goodly  presence,  pardie ;  but  a  ruffler,  I  war- 
rant me,  if  no  worse.  Loath  would  I  be  to  drink  with 
him  in  the  dark,  and  yet  more  loath  to  play  with  him  at 
the  dice.  Yon  may  well  be  the  Italian  who,  as  I  heard 
but  yester-even,  won  thirty  silver  marks  of  Josselyn,  the 
Abbot's  reeve,  and  picked  a  quarrel  with  him  thereafter. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  73 

Marry,  had  not  help  been  near,  the  wittol — besides  losing 
his  year's  savings — would  have  brooked  the  stab.  By 
Saint  Benedict,  I  like  not  such  company ;  and  if  my  gos- 
sip, our  host,  were  of  my  mind,  he  would  have  none  such 
at  the  'Spur.'  " 

"I  am  partly  of  thine  opinion,"  Ralph  answered  care- 
lessly ;  "but  I  see  not  how  he  can  concern  us.  We  are 
not  birds  for  his  net,  I  trow.  Go  back,  I  prithee,  to  where 
thou  brakest  off  talk  but  now,  and  finish  yonder  stoup, 
which  is  well-nigh  drained.  I  have  beckoned  already  to 
the  drawer  to  bring  hither  another." 

The  armorer  complied,  nothing  loath.  But  as  he  wiped 
his  beard  and  prepared  to  resume  converse — he  was 
somewhat  slow  and  deliberate  of  speech — the  outward 
door  swung  open  once  more,  this  time  timidly  and  cau- 
tiously, and  there  entered  a  girl,  leading  by  the  hand  a 
white-haired  man,  somewhat  bent  with  age  or  infirmity, 
who  walked  with  the  faltering,  uncertain  gait  peculiar 
to  the  blind.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  profession  of 
the  pair;  the  threadbare  cotehardie,  and  the  gittern,  or 
rebecque,  slung  round  his  neck,  betokened  the  minstrel; 
whilst  from  her  raiment  of  gay,  contrasted  colors,  no 
less  than  from  the  instrument  carried  in  her  right  hand, 
all  knew  the  tymbestere. 

"  'Tis  Gilbert  the  glee-man" — John  Brakespeare  said, 
with  a  kind  of  gruff  apology,  seeing  his  companion's  brow 
overcast  at  the  fresh  interruption — "with  his  granddaugh- 
ter. It  were  charity  to  let  them  play  out  their  play,  an' 
you  would  have  patience ;  for  they  will  take  no  alms 
unless  they  seem  to  earn  them.  Marry,  I  mind  him  as 
deft  an  archer  as  ever  drew  clothyard  shaft.  In  the 
Scots  wars  got  he  that  axe-blow  which  hath  dazed  his 
brain  ever  since,  and  left  his  eyes  darkling.  He  hath  no 
mean  skill  on  his  instrument,  and  she  dances  right  featly, 
howbeit  in  somewhat  strange  fashion.  Moreover,  'tis  a 


74  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

good  wench  and  a  chaste,  as  I  have  heard  true  folk  aver ; 
though  it  may  seem  likelier  to  find  a  pearl  in  Thames 
ooze  than  virtue  in  a  glee-maiden." 

Ralph's  face  softened  in  contrition — as  he  made  an- 
swer: 

"I  take  shame  to  myself  that  I  should  have  chafed  but 
now.  It  fits  me  well — a  poor  aspirant  in  arms — to  grudge 
charity  to  one  who  hath  come  by  mischance,  fighting  man- 
fully under  shield.  Let  them  play  on  with  a  good  cour- 
age ;  I  promise  that,  when  'tis  done,  they  shall  not  lack 
guerdon." 

To  higher  and  holier  places  than  hostels,  in  those  days, 
minstrel,  jester,  and  tregetour  had  easy  access.  It  was 
clear  that  the  entertainment  about  to  take  place  was  of 
no  unusual  occurrence  here ;  and,  perchance,  others  of  less 
reputable  sort  were  not  uncommon.  After  the  two  had 
made  lowly  obeisance,  the  girl  led  her  grandsire  to  a 
vacant  bench,  and  moved  forward  herself  to  a  clear  space 
left  in  the  centre  of  the  guest-chamber,  where  no  rushes 
were  strewn. 

She  looked  singularly  picturesque  as  she  struck  her 
first  attitude — her  lithe,  elastic  figure,  set  off  by  a  trim 
blue  bodice  quaintly  broidered,  drawn  back,  and  poised 
firmly  on  the  right  foot — whirling  the  timbrel  on  one 
finger  of  the  hand  raised  above  her  head ;  the  firelight 
gleaming  on  her  light  hair,  braided  with  gay  ribbons  and 
glittering  coins,  and  on  her  pretty,  mutinous  face,  whose 
natural  fairness  of  complexion  had  not  altogether  yielded 
to  the  tanning  of  sun  and  wind ;  while  the  short, 
striped  skirt  gave  liberal  glimpses  of  a  neat  ankle  and 
shapely  leg,  cased  in  scarlet  hosen.  After  a  brief  prelude, 
the  gittern-player  broke  into  a  wild,  fitful  measure — 
slow  for  the  most1  part,  but  sometimes  quickened  abruptly 
— with  which  chimed  in  the  jingle  of  the  bells  sewn  to  the 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  75 

dancer's  dress,  and  at  irregular  intervals  the  clash  and  rat- 
tle of  the  timbrel. 

The  performance  differed  materially  from  those  of  the 
same  class  then  in  vogue,  and  rather  resembled  those 
practiced  by  the  Moriscoes  on  the  continent,  but  little 
known  in  England,  the  chief  characteristics  of  which  have 
probably  been  preserved  by  the  modern  Gitanas.  There 
were  none  of  the  violent  feats  of  activity  or  displays  of 
posture-making,  in  which  the  tymbesteres  were  prone  to 
indulge ;  and,  though  some  of  the  gestures  were  provoca- 
tive enough,  none  were  coarse,  immodest,  or  unseemly. 
Such  as  it  was,  the  dance  was  a  complete  success.  Long 
before  it  was  ended,  the  soberest  spectators  were  ready 
to  applaud,  and  to  open  their  purse-strings.  Before  it 
had  fairly  begun,  the  dark  stranger,  who  sat  drinking 
alone,  had  roused  himself  from  his  reverie,  and  was 
watching  the  performer  with  something  more  than  idle 
curiosity.  As  the  last  rattle  of  the  rebecque  died  away, 
the  girl  made  another  obeisance,  lowly  and  gracefully, 
and  went  round  for  such  alms  as  it  pleased  the  audience 
to  bestow,  beginning  at  the  lower  end  of  the  long  cham- 
ber. She  passed  on,  her  timbrel  growing  heavier  with 
silver  esterlings  and  groats,  till  she  reached  the  angle  of 
the  chimney  where  the  Italian  sat.  As  he  thrust  his  hand 
into  his  gipsire,  he  glanced  at  the  heap  of  small  silver 
coins,  and  laughed  contemptuously. 

"Is  that  all  the  largess  thou  hast  gathered  hitherto  from 
churl  and  trader,  poverina  mia?  Here  is  a  new  broad 
florence  for  thee ;  and,  if  thou  wilt  kiss  me  twice  betwixt 
the  lips,  I  will  e'en  double  the  guerdon." 

As  he  spoke,  his  right  arm  was  thrown  suddenly  round 
the  tymbestere's  waist,  and  he  half  drew  her  on  his  knee. 
She  was  no  country-bred  wench  to  start  at  a  rude  jest  or 
innocent  freedom,  and  the  shyness  of  maidenhood  per- 
chance was  gone  before  her  cheek  lost  its  bloom;  but 


76  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

there  was  a  look  in  those  evil,  handsome  eyes  that  made 
her  shrink  back  with  an  instinctive  dislike  and  fear. 

"I  pray  you,  set  me  free,  sir,"  she  said,  trying  to  veil 
her  terror  under  a  seeming  of  mirth.  "I  deal  not  in  such 
wares  as  you  would  chaffer  for,  and  it  were  flat  robbery 
to  take  your  florence,  sith  a  groat  overpays  our  pains." 

He  smiled,  half  in  amusement,  half  in  scorn,  but  his 
black,  arched  brows  were  bent  till  they  nearly  met ;  and, 
drawing  her  down  by  main  force  closer  and  nearer,  he 
whispered  some  few  words  in  her  ear.  The  girl's  sun- 
burnt cheek  flushed  up  like  flame ;  she  spoke  never  a  word 
now,  but  dashed  down  her  timbrel  on  the  table  near ;  and, 
bracing  both  her  arms  against  the  shoulders  of  her  assail- 
ant, fought  hard  to  get  loose,  panting  far  more  than  she 
had  done  in  the  heat  of  exercise,  and  casting  over  her 
shoulders  piteous  looks  of  appeal. 

The  quick  ear  of  the  old  minstrel  caught  the  sounds  of 
struggle,  and  some  suspicion  of  the  truth  shot  through 
his  mazed  brain ;  he  partly  rose  from  his  bench,  but  sank 
back  again  with  a  groan  of  helplessness,  his  lips  quivering 
nervously,  and  his  thin  horny  fingers  plucking  at  the  git- 
tern-strings.  Throughout  the  guest-chamber  there  was  a 
stir  and  murmur  of  disapproval,  and  more  than  one  cried 
"Shame !"  aloud — not  a  few  there  knew  the  girl  and  her 
grandsire  well,  and  liked  not  to  see  her  misused.  The 
host  of  the  "Spur"  himself — a  fussy,  obsequious  man  with 
little  or  no  authority  under  his  own  roof  or  elsewhere — 
so  far  overcame  his  awe  of  the  terrible  foreigner,  as  to 
come  forward  and  stammer  forth  a  timid  remonstrance. 
But  the  Italian  cut  him  rudely  short. 

"Meddle  with  thine  own  matters,  friend,"  said  he ; 
"and  fetch  me  hither  another  flagon  of  Muscadine,  with 
no  such  cursed  twang  in  it  as  spoiled  the  last.  Have  I 
traveled  all  these  leagues,  to  find  Lucrece  in  shape  of  a 
glee-maiden,  and  Cato  in  a  knave  host?  I  will  deal  with 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  77 

this  damoiselle  after  my  pleasure;  and  I  would  fain  see 
who  shall  gainsay  me!" 

His  fierce  eyes  traveled  round  the  guest-chamber  with 
a  challenge  which  for  a  while  seemed  like  to  meet  with 
no  answer.  Among  the  staid  citizens  and  franklins  there 
assembled  there  were  many  who  lacked  not  courage ;  but 
it  suited  them  hot  to  show  it  in  a  tavern  brawl,  even  in 
graver  cause  than  the  defense  of  a  tymbestere.  Suddenly 
a  clear  quiet  voice  spoke: 

"De  Par  Dien,  that  will  I." 

And  shaking  from  his  arm  the  armorer's  warning 
grasp,  Ralph  Brakespeare  strode  out  of  the  shadow  into 
the  firelight. 

The  Italian  sprang  to  his  feet,  griping  the  girl's  wrist 
still  hard  with  his  left  hand,  while  his  right  fell,  as  it  were 
naturally,  on  his  dagger  hilt.  But  he  thrust  the  blade 
back  before  it  was  half  drawn,  and  broke  again  into  that 
low,  mocking  laugh,  so  intensely  insolent. 

"So  the  bona-roba  hath  found  a  champion.  By  the 
body  of  Venus,  a  likely  youth!  And  with  what  arms 
wouldst  thou  do  battle  for  thy  lady — with  estoc  of  lath, 
or  a  fool's  bauble  for  mace.  'Twere  a  good  deed  to  let 
out  some  of  the  blood  that  boils  in  thee  too  hotly ;  but  it 
suits  me  not  now  to  play  the  chirurgeon.  Wilt  thou  try  a 
wrestle  before  this  reverend  company?  Here  is  space 
enow  for  a  fair  fall,  and  no  rushes  to  break  it;  it  may 
be  that  thy  bones  will  carry  away  to-night  some  memory 
of  our  meeting.  As  for  thee,  thou  peevish  piece  of  har- 
lotry !  sit  thou  there  behind  me — I  will  deal  with  thee 
anon." 

Taunt  or  threat  Ralph  Brakespeare  noticed  not,  any 
more  than  he  did  the  imploring  glances  of  Will  Lanyon, 
who  was  broad  awake  now,  and  manifestly  eager  to  take 
the  burden  of  the  quarrel  on  his  own  shoulders.  He  thrust 
his  follower  hastily,  though  not  unkindly,  aside ;  and,  ad- 


78  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

vancing  yet  a  few  steps,  stood  face  to  face  with  his  ad- 
versary. He  was  by  some  two  inches  the  taller  of  the 
twain,  but  far  lighter  of  frame ;  of  all  the  bystanders 
Lanyon  alone,  perchance,  doubted  that  the  result  would 
be  other  than  they  wished ;  for  a  mere  youth  was  pitted 
against  one  in  the  very  flower  of  his  strength,  and  from 
the  way  in  which  the  Italian  took  up  his  position,  the 
judges  of  such  matters  saw  in  him  a  practiced  wrestler. 

Without  another  word  spoken  on  either  side,  they 
grappled.  At  first,  as  they  swayed  to  and  fro,  the  for- 
eigner's superior  weight  did  tell,  and  it  seemed  as  though 
his  opponent  must  needs  be  borne  down,  or  uprooted  from 
the  floor.  But  not  for  naught  had  Philip  Kemeys'  pupil 
studied  under  a  master  whose  name  had  been  for  a 
quarter-century  the  boast  and  terror  of  the  country-side. 
At  the  very  moment  when  Ralph  seemed  to  bend  and  yield 
under  the  other's  grip,  with  a  quick  side-twist  he  brought 
his  own  hip  under  the  other's  groin ;  then,  before  any 
could  guess  how  it  was  done,  the  Italian's  feet,  struck 
clean  from  under  him,  flew  high  in  air,  and  he  came  to 
the  ground  with  a  dull,  ominous  crash,  flung  fairly  over 
Brakespeare's  shoulder. 

No  wonder  that  for  some  seconds'  space  he  should  have 
lain  there  half  stunned  and  motionless ;  not  twice  in  a  life- 
time will  a  heavy  man  rise  from  such  a  fall  on  hardened 
ground  without  scathe  to  life  or  limb;  but,  before  the 
murmur  of  applause  called  forth  by  the  unexpected  feat 
had  died  away,  the  Italian  gathered  himself  up  slowly, 
and  stood  upon  his  feet. 

His  handsome  face,  deformed  as  it  was  by  pain  and 
malice,  had  not  wholly  lost  its  beauty ;  but  it  was  so  fear- 
fully transfigured  that  a  painter,  limning  some  old  saintly 
legend  might  have  had  no  apter  semblance  for  tortured  or 
baffled  Belial.  The  brutal  lust  that  lately  gleamed  in  his 
eyes  was  supplanted  by  a  keener  desire — the  acrid  thirst 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  79 

for  blood.  He  plucked  from  its  sheath  a  long,  keen 
poignard,  on  whose  dark-veined  blade  there  were  stains 
not  a  few,  and  drew  himself  together  half -crouching,  like 
a  savage  panther  about  to  spring. 

And  in  Ralph  Brakespeare's  eyes  there  was  the  evil 
light  spoken  of  before ;  and  his  face  was  set  as  a  flint- 
stone,  dark  and  pitiless,  as  he  bared  his  own  hunting- 
knife,  and,  without  giving  a  hair's  breadth  of  ground, 
waited  warily  for  the  onset.  All  present  there  wist  that 
none  could  come  betwixt  those  two  without  sore  risk  to 
his  own  life ;  yet  Lanyon  started  forward  with  some  such 
intent,  whilst  the  armorer  shouted  lustily  for  the  watch, 
and  the  host  wrung  his  hands  helplessly,  and  the  tym- 
bestere  shrieked  in  her  terror,  and  many  called  on  the 
combatants  in  God's  name  to  forbear.  Intercession  or  in- 
terference must  have  been  equally  vain,  and  the  watch 
could  only  have  come  in  time  to  carry  a  corpse  away,  had 
it  not  been  for  an  incident  on  which  none  had  reckoned. 

A  side  door  leading  into  a  small  inner  chamber  opened, 
and,  through  all  the  bustle  and  uproar,  a  single  voice 
made  itself  heard : 

"What!  brawling  again,  Gian  Malatesta?  Will  those 
hands  of  thine  never  be  quiet  till  they  are  in  the  gyves  ?" 

A  very  calm,  quiet  voice — not  raised  a  whit  above  its 
wonted  tone — yet  marked  with  an  indescribable  accent 
like  that  of  one  fated  someday  to  hold  authority  over  his 
fellows,  even  if  his  turn  for  command  hath  not  come  yet. 
The  first  syllables  acted  on  the  Italian's  wrath  like  a 
necromancer's  spell  on  a  rebellious  familiar.  He  thrust 
back  his  dagger  into  its  sheath ;  and,  as  he  turned  toward 
the  speaker,  the  ferocity  on  his  face  changed  to  the  sullen 
confusion,  which,  with  natures  like  his,  replaces  shame. 

The  newcomer  deserves  to  be  somewhat  carefully  por- 
trayed, for  that  age,  rife  though  it  was  with  names  of 
mark,  bred  few  more  notable  worthies. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

SIR  JOHN  HAWKWOOD. 

HERE  stood  on  the  threshold  of  the  open  door- 
way this  manner  of  man : 

Something  over  the  middle  height,  of  a 
complexion  rather  florid  than  pale,  with  hair 
and  beard  of  rich  dark  chestnut,  and  features  cast  in  keen 
aquiline  mould.  The  face  was  too  calm  and  resolute  to  be 
ignoble,  and  marked  by  too  decisive  a  character  to  be 
vulgar;  yet  certainly  it  wanted  the  stamp  of  birth  and 
breeding  that  gives  a  charm  to  many  more  commonplace 
visages.  His  attire  was  plain  even  to  meanness ;  consist- 
ing of  a  close  jerkin,  or  cassock,  of  coarse  dark  russet 
cloth,  with  nether  garments  and  hose  of  the  same  color, 
all  frayed  and  stained  with  pressure  of  hauberk,  cuissard, 
and  steel  boot. 

Such  an  one  at  the  age  of  thirty,  or  thereabouts,  was 
John  Hawkwood — son  of  the  tanner  of  Sible  Hedingham, 
and  whilom  prentice  to  the  tailor  in  Chepe — then,  a  sim- 
ple man-at-arms ;  till,  within  this  very  year,  for  wight  serv- 
ice at  Cregy,  he  took  from  King  Edward's  own  hand  the 
knightly  accolade.  He  held  in  his  right  hand,  sheathed, 
one  of  the  short  swords  called  coutels;  and  with  the 
other  beckoned  the  Italian  toward  him.  The  other  obeyed 
without  a  word,  though,  as  it  seemed,  rather  sullenly  and 
reluctantly ;  and  in  another  second  the  door  of  the  inner 
chamber  was  closed  behind  them. 

Then  there  broke  forth  again  a  stir  and  murmur  in  the 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  81 

guest-chamber,  but  now  of  merriment  rather  than  of  fear  ; 
for  there  was  not  one  present  whose  heart  was  not  glad- 
dened by  the  sight  of  the  foreigner's  handsome  head  laid 
low.  Several  gathered  round  the  conqueror,  pressing  on 
him  their  simple  gratulations,  whilst  loudest  amongst 
them  rose  the  voice  of  the  honest  armorer.  Lanyon,  when 
he  saw  that  help  was  no  longer  needed,  had  cast  himself 
down  again  on  his  settle,  and  had  already  relapsed  into 
stolid  placidity.  In  the  midst  of  the  hubbub,  none  noticed 
the  disappearance  of  the  glee-maiden  and  her  grandsire. 
Hastily,  though  not  uncourteously,  Ralph  broke  through 
his  admirers ;  and,  plucking  him  by  the  sleeve  as  he 
bustled  past,  drew  the  host  aside. 

"I  fain  would  learn  the  name  and  degree  of  him  who 
entered  but  now,"  he  said,  "if  thou  knowest  them,  and 
there  be  no  special  reason  for  thy  silence." 

"There  is  none  such,  fair  sir,"  the  other  answered 
readily.  "Men  call  him  Sir  John  Hawk  wood  now ; 
though  but  a  year  agone,  as  I  have  heard,  he  rode  a  simple 
archer  in  the  Lord  Neville's  train.  I  warrant  him  a  good 
lance  and  a  bold,  yet  very  straitened  in  his  means,  I  fear 
me.  He  hath  been  at  no  charges,  save  for  needful  meat 
and  drink,  the  three  days  he  hath  lain  in  my  private  cham- 
ber. Marry,  had  it  not  been  for  his  follower — yonder 
roysterer,  with  whom  your  worship  dealt  so  roundly  but 
now — the  'Spur'  had  gained  little  by  their  custom.  Nath- 
less,  I  grudge  him  not  house-room,  God  wot.  'Tis  a  fair 
spoken  knight,  and  a  kindly;  and  mayhap  he  will  tarry 
here  someday,  when  he  hath  gotten  both  wealth  and 
honor." 

As  they  spoke,  the  armorer  had  approached  unob- 
served, and  struck  in  with  scant  ceremony. 

"And  is  that  Sir  John  Hawkwood? — I  am  well  pleased 
to  have  foregathered  with  him.  My  goodwife  hath  kins- 
folk in  the  parts  where  he  was  born  and  bred.  It  was  but 


82  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

the  other  day  that  her  cousin  told  us  of  the  wonderment 
and  gladness  at  Hedingham,  when  they  heard  that  their 
neighbor's  son  had  won  his  spurs.  'Tis  pity  that  the  hon- 
est tanner  lived  not  to  look  on  his  boy's  face  again ;  but 
he  was  in  mortal  sickness  when  the  news  came,  and  the 
great  joy  may  well  have  hasted  his  end.  The  knight  hath 
Started  fair,  certes ;  yet  he  hath  a  brave  long  race  yet  to 
run,  and  there  will  be  prizes  worth  the  winning  for  such 
as  keep  him  company.  Had  I  to  choose  my  service,  I 
swear  by  Saint  Benedict,  I  had  liever  ride  under  his  pen- 
non than  under  the  broadest  banner  that  flaunts  in  Flan- 
ders or  Guienne." 

Just  then  the  inner  door  opened  again,  and  the  Italian 
re-entered  the  guest-chamber.  On  his  smooth  brow  there 
was  no  vestige  of  cloud ;  and  none  but  a  very  keen  ob- 
server would  have  detected  in  his  smile  a  covert  sneer. 

"I  crave  pardon  of  this  goodly  company,"  he  said  in  a 
soft,  slow  voice,  "for  having  broken  off  their  drink  and 
troubled  their  mirth.  I  did  but  jest  with  the  damoiselle 
after  my  rough  foreign  fashion ;  and,  had  she  not  fled  so 
suddenly,  else  had  I  made  her  amends  before  you  all. 
I  will  take  good  heed  so  to  offend  no  more.  To  you. 
gentle  sir" — he  bent  low  as  he  turned  toward  Ralph 
Brakespeare — "would  I  make  special  excuse  in  presence 
of  Sir  John  Hawkwood,  the  knight  I  follow,  if  it  will 
please  you  to  visit  him  in  his  chamber." 

Ralph  bent  his  head ;  and,  with  a  sign  of  intelligence 
to  the  armorer,  went  out  with  the  Italian. 

They  came  into  a  small  chamber,  dimly  lighted  by  a 
single  oil-lamp,  and  scantily  furnished  with  a  few  rude 
lockers  for  arms  and  wearing  apparel ;  two  bed  places  let 
into  recesses  in  the  wall,  after  the  fashion  still  prevalent 
in  parts  of  Scotland ;  and  a  heavy  oaken  table  strewn  with 
parchments  and  writing  material,  near  which  sat  Sir 
John  Hawkwood.  As  he  arose  to  greet  his  visitor,  there 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  83 

might  have  been  noticed  in  his  cotirteesy  the  stiffness  and 
constraint  of  one  who  has  had  little  practice  in  social 
forms  and  ceremonies — neither  did  he  waste  many  words 
in  preamble. 

"It  shames  me  much,  fair  sir,"  he  said,  "that  the  ill 
conduct  of  follower  of  mine  should  have  drawn  you  into 
unseemly  brawl ;  albeit  you  have  dealt  him  a  sharp  les- 
son, for  the  which  I  thank  you  heartily.  I  know  no  more 
than  it  hath  suited  him  to  avow ;  but  I  guessed  what  hap- 
pened, when  I  saw  the  glee-maiden  cowering  there. 
Sathanas  needs  but  to  take  the  shape  of  a  dainty  para- 
mour, and  Gian  Malatesta  will  wend  lightly  wherever  it 
lists  the  fiend  to  lead.  Nevertheless,  I  have  told  him 
roundly  that,  if  he  proffer  not  such  excuse  as  it  may  fit 
you  to  receive,  he  and  I  part  this  night.  'Twere  a  sorry 
jest  if  I,  who  but  lately  stood  bareheaded  in  presence  of 
captains,  should  suffer  insolence  toward  their  betters  in 
such  as  ride  with  me." 

'Tis  scarce  worth  while  to  set  down  at  length  the 
Italian's  apology ;  more  especially  as  it  imposed  not  alto- 
gether on  him  to  whom  it  was  addressed.  Indeed,  a 
vague  feeling  of  dislike  and  distrust  rather  increased 
than  abated  in  Brakespeare's  breast;  he  cut  the  glib 
speaker  short,  so  soon  as  he  could  dp  so  without  manifest 
discourtesy. 

"I  pray  thee  be  less  liberal  in  excuse,  messire ;  enough 
has  been  said  and  to  spare.  Perchance  little  harm  was 
meant;  and,  as  it  chanced,  none  hath  been  done.  'Tis  a 
fashion  in  my  country  to  strike  hands  after  a  tough 
wrestling  bout  in  token  that  no  bad  blood  rankle ;  here  is 
mine,  if  ye  list  to  take  it." 

With  great  show  of  eagerness  the  Italian  accepted  the 
proffer ;  but  their  fingers  were  barely  locked  before  they 
unclasped  again,  and  Ralph  turned  away  somewhat  hast- 
ily- 


84  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

"There  are  graver  matters  concerning  which  I  would 
speak  to  this  knight,  at  his  good  leisure." 

"There  is  no  better  time  than  now,"  Hawkwood 
answered.  "Leave  us,  Gian  Malatesta ;  but  go  not  far 
away,  and  keep  thy  brain  as  cool  as  thou  canst;  I  may 
need  thy  help  with  this  scrivener  work  ere  I  sleep." 

When  they  were  alone,  Ralph  stated  his  wishes  briefly 
and  bluntly ;  proffering  for  himself  and  Lanyon  to  take 
service  in  the  French  wars  as  man-at-arms  and  archer, 
whilst  Hawkwood  listened,  leaning  his  brow  on  his  hands, 
and  half  shading  his  face. 

"How  are  ye  called  ?"  he  asked,  without  looking  up. 

When  he  heard  the  answer,  he  dropped  his  hand,  and 
gazed  steadily  on  the  youth  with  his  small,  piercing 
eyes. 

"Brakespeare  ?" — he  said,  doubtfully.  "  'Tis  an  honest 
yeoman  name,  certes,  like  to  the  one  I  bear ;  yet  right 
seldom  worn  by  those  of  the  degree  to  which,  if  I  err  not, 
thou  belongest  by  birth,  if  not  by  fortune." 

Ralph  met  the  fixed  look  without  blenching. 

"I  say  not  that  they  christened  me  so/'  he  answered ; 
"but  to  none  other  name  have  I  better  claim,  and  by  none 
other  will  I  henceforth  be  known,  whether  I  speed  with 
you,  sir  knight,  or  no.  Also,  ye  do  greatly  err  in  im- 
puting to  me  higher  estate  than  my  name  imports ;  there 
are  merchants  and  franklins  not  a  few  in  yon  guest- 
chamber,  who,  if  right  were  done,  might  sit  higher  at  the 
board  than  I." 

Sir  John's  lip  curled  with  a  quaint  smile,  sarcastic,  yet 
not  unkindly. 

"Good  sooth,  I  marvel  how  the  great  folk  of  thy  coun- 
try apparel  themselves,  and  what  manner  of  gimmals 
they  wear,  when  on  the  fingers  of  yeomen's  sons  shine 
fair  balas  rubies !  Nay,  be  not  wroth," — he  went  on,  in  a 
grave  voice,  marking  the  quick  flush  on  Ralph's  cheek — 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  85 

"I  have  no  title  to  question  thee.  Rather  take  thou  this 
my  counsel :  if  on  light  incitement  thou  hast  left  thy 
home,  repent  thee  in  time,  so  shall  thy  fortunes  not  be 
marred  in  peevish  fit;  but,  if  there  be  weightier  causes, 
and  thou  art  in  truth  utterly  adrift,  then  take  service  with 
some  knight  or  baron  of  higher  repute  and  larger  means 
than  I.  Ill  will  it  suit  such  as  from  youth  upward  have 
lain  soft,  and  lived  delicately,  to  ride  with  plain  John 
Hawkwood,  whose  worldly  wealth — the  accompt  of  which 
lies  under  mine  hand — may  scarce  suffice  for  the  furni- 
ture of  three  men-at-arms." 

"Let  that  be  no  hindrance,"  Ralph  answered  with  eager- 
ness unwonted  in  him ;  "I  bear  gold  pieces  enow  in  this 
gipsire  to  purvey  myself  and  my  follower  yonder,  both 
with  horse  and  armor.  Nay,  for  that  special  purpose 
were  they  given  to  me.  As  for  choosing  another  leader, 
the  honest  armorer  whose  surname  I  bear — albeit,  I  pro- 
fess hot  to  be  of  his  kin — said,  speaking  of  your  wor- 
ship but  now :  'He  hath  a  brave  long  race  yet  to  run, 
and  there  will  be  prizes  worth  the  winning  for  such  as 
keep  him  company.  Had  I  to  choose  my  service,  I  had 
liever  ride  under  his  pennoncelle  than  under  the  broadest 
banner  that  flaunts  in  Flanders  or  Guienne/  Even  so 
say  I.  Yet  will  I  thrust  my  service  on  none,  and  I  may 
not  gainsay  your  pleasure ;  so,,  if  ye  will  have  none  of 
me  and  mine,  I  will  cumber  your  time  and  chamber  no 
more." 

Now,  John  Hawkwood,  though  imbued  with  many  of 
the  high  and  generous  qualities  which  are  part  and  par- 
cel of  the  heroic  character,  was  by  no  means  a  hero  of 
romance,  either  in  disinterestedness  or  disregard  of  his 
own  advantage — to  which,  indeed,  as  his  later  history 
shows,  he  had  a  marvelously  keen  eye.  Here  was  a 
rare  chance  before  him ;  and  he  was  scarce  likely  to  let 
it  slip.  Rising  up,  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  other's  arm, 


86  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

as  it  were  with  a  sudden  impulse,  which,  if  not  natural, 
was  excellently  feigned. 

"Nay,  fair  youth,  we  part  not  thus.  It  may  be  I  have 
been  over  nice  in  this  matter — specially  since  the  king,  our 
master,  stands  in  sore  need  of  thews  and  sinews  like 
thine.  Thy  follower,  I  guess,  was  yon  brawny  carle  I 
saw  but  now,  so  eager  to  thrust  himself  between  thee 
and  harm  at  his  own  life's  peril.  Sith  ye  will  have  none 
of  my  counsel,  I  will  take  your  frank  proffer  as  frankly ; 
and  ye  both  shall  be  enrolled  this  night — thou  as  man- 
at-arms,  he  as  archer.  If  ever  I  thrive  so  as  to  maintain 
a  household,  we  may  speak  of  thine  advancement  to 
esquire's  degree.  In  such  a  case,  were  it  set  to  the  proof, 
baseness  of  birth,  I  warrant  me,  would  not  be  thy  bar; 
though  I  choose  not  to  pry  further  into  what  concerns  me 
not  nearly.  Write  thyself  down  as  it  lists  thee — a  man 
may  fight  well,  God  wot,  under  a  worse  name  than  thou 
hast  chosen." 

"Nay,  not  so,"  the  other  made  answer;  "if  you,  sir 
knight,  scruple  not  to  attach  to  your  person  an  unknown 
runagate,  I  were  a  very  churl  to  be  more  niggardly  of 
trust.  Hearken,  an'  it  please  you,  though  'tis  scarce 
worth  your  while." 

Then,  very  briefly  and  simply,  for  the  second  time  that 
day,  Ralph  Brakespeare  told  his  story  to  a  stranger.  But 
Hawkwood  evidently  thought  it  not  wasted  time,  as  he 
listened  with  marked  interest.  When  it  was  ended,  he 
shook  his  head  with  a  compassion  that  may  well  have 
been  real. 

"  'Tis  a  sad  tale,"  he  said.  "I  know  but  little  of  the 
ways  and  fashions  of  knights  and  nobles ;  yet  often  hath 
it  seemed  to  me  that  they  deal  with  their  own  flesh  and 
blood  more  hardly  than  they  deal  with  us  of  low  estate. 
For  what  thou  hast  done  I  blame  thee  not  how.,  nay,  by 
the  Rood,  I  think  thou  hast  chosen  thy  part  both  wisely 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  87 

and  well.  I  am  right  glad  that  all  lies  fair  and  open  be- 
twixt us  two;  thou  dost  not  fear  I  should  betray  thy 
secret  ?  There  is  yet  another  matter  troubles  me :  I  know 
not  how  thou  and  Gian  Malatesta  will  agree.  Forsooth,  I 
myself  like  him  not  hugely,  and  trust  him  no  further  than 
I  would  trust  a  sworn  dicer  and  drabber ;  yet  is  the  knave 
useful  manywise.  He  speaketh  three  tongues  indifferently 
well,  and,  with  good  skill  at  all  weapons,  hath  a  special  gift 
for  ambushments  and  stratagems  of  war ;  moreover,  when 
in  the  humor,  or  hardly  pressed,  he  will  fight  like  a  very 
fiend ;  also,  never  a  clerk  or  shaveling  of  them  all  can 
read  and  indite  more  deftly.  Indeed,  though  he  babbles 
not  much  concerning  himself  even  in  his  drink,  from 
certain  words  he  hath  let  drop,  I  guess  him  to  have  been 
cloister-bred,  and  to  have  broken  bounds.  Chiefly  to 
this  end  did  I  yield  to  his  desire,  and  suffer  him  to  come 
hither  in  my  company.  I  needed  help  in  dealing  with 
all  this  gear" — he  pointed  to  the  table  strewn  with  parch- 
ments— "for  scrolls  are  but  sealed  books  unto  me.  I  have 
been  seeking  to  turn  into  gold  pieces  the  slender  heritage 
that  came  to  me  but  of  late — marry,  when  the  charges 
of  my  journey  and  the  cost  of  these  parchments  are  paid, 
my  gipsire  will  be  heavier  by  scarce  a  score  of  nobles. 
It  may  be  that  the  Lombard  and  scrivener  are  cozening 
me,  and  that  the  Italian  is  in  league  with  both ;  but  I 
have  no  patience  to  dally  longer  here.  Yet  another  three 
or  four  days,  and  we  will  be  clear  of  English  air — not  on 
light  cause,  I  wis,  will  I  breathe  it  again." 

"Let  not  that  trouble  your  worship,"  Ralph  answered 
cheerily,  yet  with  a  touch  of  scorn.  "It  is  not  like,  in- 
deed, that  Messire  Malatesta  and  I  shall  knit  brotherhood 
in  arms ;  nathless  might  we  drink  at  the  same  board,  and 
couch  in  the  same  tent,  and  ride  under  the  same  pennon 
for  many  a  year,  without  either  looking  askance  at  the 
other.  For  all  that  you  have  seen  to-night,  I  am  not, 


88  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

in  very  truth,  given  to  brawling,  nor  have  I  thus  far 
found  men  hasty  in  picking  quarrel." 

"That  can  I  well  believe,"  Harkwood  replied,  smiling 
slightly ;  "and  though  Gian  Malatesta  be  a  rank  brawler 
when  crossed  or  in  drink,  I  have  ever  noted  in  him  a  cer- 
tain shrewd  wit  in  choosing  such  as  may  safely  be  over- 
borne. Thou  are  not  of  these,  as  he  has  found  out  at 
cost  of  a  rib's-ache ;  I  dare  aver  he  will  mell  with  thee  no 
more.  Go  now,  I  prithee,  and  send  that  same  varlet 
hither  to  me.  I  must  get  forward  with  these  matters  to- 
night. And  come  with  thy  follower  early  to-morrow, 
that  I  may  enroll  your  names,  and  give  ye  handsel  of 
King  Edward's  wages.  Then  will  we  speak  of  purvey- 
ing thee  with  horse  and  armor ;  in  these  times  there  is  no 
lack  of  such  gear  ready  to  all  men's  hands." 

With  an  obeisance  that  marked  that  he  already  held 
himself  bound  by  new  duties,  Brakespeare  went  out ;  and, 
after  delivering  his  message  to  the  Italian,  sat  down  to 
tell  Will  Lanyon  and  the  armorer  how  he  had  sped. 

The  first-named  took  the  news  with  his  wonted  pla- 
cidity ;  it  was,  indeed,  to  him  of  singularly  small  im- 
portance under  whom  he  served,  so  long  as  he  parted 
not  company  with  the  one  man  whose  fortunes  he  had 
chosen  to  follow.  The  armorer,  who  by  this  time  had 
nearly  rendered  an  account  of  the  second  stoup,  was 
voluble  in  congratulation  and  approval ;  perchance  his 
satisfaction  was  in  no  wise  lessened  by  reflection  on  the 
custom  that  the  morrow  would  bring  him.  But  John 
Brakespeare  was  no  late  roysterer,  and  had  a  character 
to  keep  up  both  at  home  and  abroad ;  so,  when  the  flagon 
was  finished,  he  rose  to  go,  resisting  manfully  all  tempta- 
tion of  another.  Ralph  went  out  with  him,  for  his  head 
felt  heated — not  with  wine,  of  which  he  had  been  spar- 
ing, but  with  excitement  of  diverse  kinds — and  he  longed 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  89 

for  a  draught  of  fresh  air,  free  of  fume  of  food  or  wood- 
smoke. 

Besides  the  great  gates  of  the  archway,  leading  into  the 
courtyard,  which  were  now  closed,  the  inn  had  another 
door  opening  into  the  street,  beyond  which  a  heavy  porch 
projected  some  three  yards.  Against  the  outer  angle  of 
this  Ralph  leant  and  watched  the  burly  armorer  as  he 
strode  away,  planting  each  solid  footfall  with  a  studied 
deliberation,  as  though  bent  on  dissembling  even  to  him- 
self a  certain  unsteadiness  of  gait. 

It  was  a  black,  boisterous  night,  with  dreary  glimpses 
of  a  watery  moon  through  the  rifts  in  the  tossing  cloud- 
rack  ;  and  every  gust  brought  closer  the  chillness  that 
foreruns  heavy  rain ;  but  there  the  youth  lingered,  loath 
to  return  to  the  heat  and  bustle  of  the  guest-chamber, 
and  not  sorry  for  a  while  to  be  left  to  his  own  musings. 
His  right  hand  was  thrust  into  the  breast  of  his  doublet, 
whilst  the  other  hung  listlessly  at  his  side.  Suddenly  he 
started,  for  on  that  left  hand  there  came  first  the  faintest 
pressure,  then  it  was  lifted  gently  till  two  soft  lips  were 
laid  on  the  palm..  Glancing  downward  in  his  wonder,  his 
eyes  looked  full  into  those  of  the  tymbestere,  gleaming 
out  of  the  shadow  where  she  knelt. 

With  the  liking  that  most  men  feel  for  any  helpless 
creature  whom  they  have  defended  not  unsuccessfully, 
there  mingled  in  Ralph's  breast  a  great  pity;  for  the 
fingers  that  clasped  his  own  were  deathly  cold ;  and  the 
threadbare  mantle  cast  over  flimsy  finery  was  a  miserable 
fence  against  the  biting  March  wind. 

"What  dost  thou  here,  thou  foolish  child?"  he  said  in 
feigned  anger.  "Of  a  surety  thou  hast  not  with  thee  the 
poor  old  man,  thy  grandsire?  Yet  if  he  guessed  thee  to 
be  abroad  alone,  he  would  fall  in  sorer  trouble  than  anon, 
when  his  face  was  such  a  sorry  sight." 


90  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

She  laughed  a  low,  sad  laugh ;  even  in  that  dim  light 
he  could  see  the  big  drops  in  her  eyes. 

"Oftentimes  have  we  two  lain  afield  in  wilder  weather 
than  this.  Nathless,  to-night  we  have  better  hap,  and  my 
grandsire  is  well  bestowed  with  some  charitable  folk  who 
have  given  us  lodging  not  a  furlong  hence — by  this  time 
he  sleeps  sound.  Messire,  I  guessed — I  know  not  why — 
that  ye  would  come  forth  ere  betaking  yourself  to  your 
chamber.  Had  it  been  otherwise,  I  had  tarried  here  till 
ye  came  forth  on  the  morrow,  rather  than  that  ye  should 
esteem  the  tymbestere  ingrate  or  thankless." 

"Tush,"  he  broke  in,  "make  not  coil  about  naught. 
Others  there  would  have  done  as  much — I  but  spoke  first, 
being  something  quick  of  temper." 

She  shook  her  head  meekly,  as  she  let  his  hand  go,  and 
rose  to  her  feet. 

"Nay,  mock  me  not.  Those  decent  citizens  and  traders 
might  have  murmured,  '  'twas  pity  and  shame' ;  and,  had 
utter  violence  been  wrought,  some  might  have  cried, 
'harow,'  and  'help' ;  but  never  a  one,  as  well  ye  wot, 
would  have  thwarted  yon  fair- faced  devil,  to  have  saved 
a  tymbestere  from  scath.  And,  beau  sire,  much  I  marvel 
that  ye  should  have  perilled  life  and  limb  for  one  whom  ye 
could  but  deem  a  light-o'-love." 

"Nay,  by  Saint  Giles,"  he  answered,  in  some  haste; 
"thou  wrongest  both  thyself  and  me.  I  did  thee  in  my 
thought  no  such  dishonor.  Moreover,  the  honest  fel- 
low who  quitted  me  but  now  spoke  both  of  thee  and  thy 
grandsire  when  first  ye  entered,  and  avouched  ye  leal  and 
true." 

A  quick,  joyful  light  dawned  on  her  face. 

"Ay!  and  did  he  so?  May  God  requite  him  of  his 
charity.  I  have  not  been  so  glad  of  heart  since  Father 
Clement  shrived  me  a  year  agone — a  pious  priest  and  a 
kindly,  albeit  Saint  Augustine's  abbot  called  him  Lol- 


THE   FORTUNES   OF   A   FREE-LANCE.  91 

lard,  and,  had  he  not  fled,  would  have  put  him  in  ward. 
I  ever  comfort  me  with  his  latest  words,  when  I  am 
most  sorrowful  and  weary.  'Go  in  peace,  my  daughter ; 
and  may  He  who  bade  the  blessed  Magdalen  be  of  good 
courage,  help  thee  in  thy  hard  battle!  So  thou  bide 
honest,  chaste,  and  duteous — and  care  not  thou  for  the 
world's  scorn.  When  ye  all  shall  come  to  the  judgment, 
perchance  it  shall  fare  with  thee  better  than  with  some 
who  now  would  shrink  from  touch  of  thy  garment.  More- 
over, neither  by  night  nor  morning  omit  thine  orisons ; 
for  to  these  will  the  Mother  of  God  herself  barken  not 
less  heedfully  than  if  thou  wert  wimpled  nun.'  Messire, 
wot  ye  why  I  trespass  thus  on  your  patience.  It  is  be- 
cause, when  once  I  have  learned  thy  name,  it  shall  never 
be  forgotten  when  I  kneel  down  to  pray.  Vouchsafe  this 
last  grace,  and  let  me  depart ;  it  is  not  meet  that  I  tarry 
in  thy  company  after  mine  errand  is  done." 

More  moved  than  he  cared  to  show,  Ralph  told  her 
what  she  required.  After  murmuring  the  words  over  to 
herself  softly  twice  or  thrice — 

"A  brave,  soldierly  name,"  she  said.  "Heaven  send  it 
luck  and  renown.  Beau  sire,  though  one  day  you  bear  on 
your  helmet  the  sleeve  of  some  high-born  damoiselle  or 
dame,  ye  need  not  scruple  to  avouch  that  you  first  showed 
prowess  in  the  bucklering  of  a  poor  glee-maiden." 

While  she  spoke,  Ralph  had  drawn  a  broad  gold  piece 
from  his  gipsire,  and  would  have  forced  it  -upon  her. 

"Take  this  at  least,"  he  began,  but  broke  off  suddenly 
with  the  quick  delicacy  which  was  part  of  his  nature,  see- 
ing that  she  shrank  back  evidently  pained.  "Nay,  thou 
silly  child,  I  meant  it  not  as  a  guerdon  or  alms,  but  rather 
as  a  token  of  this  our  meeting.  Other  have  I  none  to 
give.  Thou  needst  not  barter  it  except  at  sore  need." 

Her  small  fingers  closed  round  it  eagerly  enough  now. 

"So  may  all  the  saints  have  you  in  their  keeping,"  she 


92  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

said,  almost  in  a  whisper;  and  stooping  down,  laid  her 
lips  upon  his  hand  once  more.  Before  their  print  had 
vanished,  she  had  flitted  away  like  an  elf  into  the  dark- 
ness. 

After  lingering  there  yet  awhile,  as  if  in  thought,  Ralph 
went  back  into  the  guest-hall,  which  was  now  emptying 
fast;  and  soon  betook  himself  to  the  chamber  which,  as 
was  the  custom,  he  shared  with  some  half-score  other 
travelers.  He  slept  not  so  soundly  as  he  was  wont ;  and 
more  than  once  started  from  slumber,  half  persuaded 
that  he  felt  on  his  hand  the  pressure  of  soft  fingers,  and 
of  softer  lips.  Nay,  some  months  elapsed  ere  such 
phantasms  ceased  to  mingle  with  rougher  visions  of  feast 
and  war. 

Two  years  later,  when  the  plague,  which  laid  England 
desolate,  was  beginning  to  abate  its  fury,  those  that  car- 
ried the  common  bier  found  under  a  hovel  on  the  banks 
of  Thames  the  corpses  of  the  minstrel  and  the  glee- 
maiden.  Both  were  thin  and  worn  by  privation;  and  it 
was  plain  they  must  have  suffered  almost  of  famine  be- 
fore the  pestilence  did  its  work ;  wherefore  the  grave- 
diggers  marveled  the  more  to  find  hung  round  the  girl's 
neck,  and  hidden  under  her  bodice,  a  broad  piece  of  gold. 
It  helped  to  make  them  merry  that  night,  after  their 
hideous  fashion ;  and,  whilst  they  caroused,  they  passed 
many  a  foul  jest  on  the  love-token  of  the  mad  tymbestere. 


CHAPTER  X. 
RALPH'S  FIRST  DAYS  AS  MAN-AT-ARMS. 

ERY  early  on  the  morrow,  Ralph  held  brief  con- 
verse with  Lanyon,  which  resulted  in  a  cer- 
tain change  of  plan.  When  they  presented 
themselves  before  Hawkwood,  Brakespeare 
prayed  that  his  follower  might  be  enlisted  as  a  hobelar, 
or  mounted  archer  of  the  inferior,  or  light-armed  class. 
To  this  the  knight  gave  ready  assent.  Neither,  indeed, 
could  he  have  objected  with  any  good  grace,  seeing  that 
both  recruits  were  to  be  equipped  at  their  own  expense. 
Gian  Malatesta  welcomed  his  new  comrades  in  a  fair  set 
speech,  to  which  Ralph  made  answer,  courteous,  and 
cold ;  though  in  his  heart  he  made  light  of  the  Italian's 
compliments,  he  gladly  availed  himself  of  the  other's 
proffered  aid  in  the  purveyance  of  horse  and  harness. 

First,  was  provided  a  strong,  active  gelding,  well  fitted 
for  the  lighter  weight  he  had  to  carry;  for  Lanyon's 
defensive  armor  consisted  only  of  a  bascinet,  haqueton, 
and  gauntlets ;  his  weapons  were  spear,  coutel,  and  knife. 
Ralph's  destrier  was  chosen  with  much  more  trouble  and 
care.  Indeed,  though  the  weight  of  metal  had  been  less- 
ened by  the  gradual  replacement  of  chain  mail  by  plate, 
it  was  still  a  sore  task  for  ordinary  horseflesh  to  bear  a 
rider  armed  cap-a-pie  through  a  long  day  of  march  or 
battle.  At  length  they  fixed  on  a  powerful  roan  stallion 
— something  heavy  in  the  crest  and  shoulder  for  our 
modern  notions,  but  with  the  short,  broad  barrel  that 


94  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

promises  hardiness  no  less  than  strength,  and  with  rare 
loins  and  limbs.  John  Brakespeare  had  not  vaunted  his 
wares  unduly ;  and,  if  the  Italian's  critical  eyes — used  to 
judge  the  work  of  Florentine  or  Genoese — found  some- 
thing now  and  then  to  cavil  at,  it  was  rather  at  want  of 
finish  in  the  fashion  than  at  defect  in  the  quality  of 
steel.  By  nightfall  the  equipment  was  complete;  and, 
more  weary  with  busy  excitement  than  he  had  ever  been 
with  exercise  on  foot  or  in  saddle,  Ralph  Brakespeare 
sat  down  to  supper.  His  gipsire  was  sorely  shrunken 
from  its  fair  round  proportions  of  yestereven ;  but  this 
troubled  the  youth  not  a  whit.  He  was  full  of  hope  and 
health,  and  knew  that  his  soldier's  pay  would  suffice  his 
moderate  desires ;  so  'tis  no  marvel  if  he  felt  himself 
wealthy  with  the  few  gold  pieces  that  yet  jingled  under 
his  girdle.  Right  glad,  too,  was  he  to  hear  that  Hawk- 
wood's  own  business  was  done,  and  that  on  the  morrow 
they  would  set  forth  to  Sandwich,  whence  they  would 
take  ship. 

There  are  few  but  would  have  lingered  to  look  at  the 
small  group  gathered  the  next  morning  round  the  porch 
of  the  "Spur,"  in  the  level  rays  of  the  late-risen  sun. 

Of  the  three  horsemen,  armed  cap-a-pie,  Hawkwood 
himself  was,  perhaps,  the  least  imposing  in  exterior.  There 
were  shrewd  dints,  both  in  his  bascinet  and  breastplate; 
neither  was  his  harness  so  carefully  polished  as  that  of  the 
Italian,  whereon  certain  bosses,  and  other  attempts  at  orna- 
ment, gave  token  of  a  leaning  toward  martial  foppery. 
Both  of  these  were  well  mounted ;  though  their  cattle  were 
somewhat  low  in  flesh,  as  from  long  travel  or  campaign- 
ing, and  made  contrast  with  the  high  conditions  of  the 
roan  destrier,  pawing  and  curvetting  impatiently  under 
the  strong,  skilful  hand  that  reined  him.  In  very  truth, 
Ralph  Brakespeare  was  a  gallant  sight  as  he  sat  there — 
square  and  erect,  yet  swaying  to  each  movement  of  his 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  95 

charger,  easily,  as  though  his  limbs  had  been  cumbered 
with  nothing  weightier  than  silk  or  serge — his  eyes  flash- 
ing under  his  raised  visor,  and  a  genial  smile  upon  his 
lips,  which  were  apt  to  be  somewhat  too  set  and  stern. 
Will  Lanyon  had  backed  too  many  wild  colts  to  feel  timid 
in  saddle;  but  he  lacked  the  grace  of  an  accomplished 
horseman,  and  was  evidently  something  ill  at  ease  in 
his  new  caparison.  His  vast  breadth  of  shoulder  and 
corded  muscles  showed  to  advantage,  even  under  the 
heavy  haqueton;  and,  looking  at  the  grip  of  his  brawny 

[thighs,  you  guessed  that  trying  to  bear  such  an  one 
down — so  long  as  his  horse  kept  its  footing — would  be 
like  tilting  at  a  tower.  Glancing  at  the  pair  with  a  keen, 
soldierly  eye,  Hawkwood  thought  that  he  had  gotten  for 
the  king,  if  not  for  himself,  a  rare  bargain. 

Close  by  the  knight's  rein  bowed  the  host  of  the 
"Spur,"  stirrup-cup  in  hand,  with  the  smug  satisfaction 
on  his  face  of  one  whose  reckoning  has  just  been  paid 
without  wrangle  or  close  enquiry.  A  pace  or  two  off 
stood  the  honest  armorer,  come  to  take  a  last  look  at  his 
own  handiwork,  and  to  wish  his  namesake  God-speed. 
Hawkwood  barely  touched  the  hippocras  with  his  lips, 
and  Ralph  was  nearly  as  temperate ;  but  the  Italian  drank 
deep  in  his  own  deliberate  fashion ;  and  Lanyon  drained 
the  huge  beaker  to  the  dregs,  muttering  something  as 
he  wiped  his  beard  about  "the  sin  of  wasting  good 
liquor." 

The  brief  farewells  were  soon  said,  and  then  came 
the  clash  and  rattle  of  steel,  as  the  small  cavalcade  moved 
slowly  away ;  the  knight  riding  alone  in  front,  his  two 
men-at-arms  following  abreast,  whilst  the  archer  brought 
up  the  rear,  leading  the  single  packhorse  laden  with  their 
scanty  baggage.  Shading  his  eyes,  John  Brakespeare 
watched  them  till  they  disappeared  round  the  sharp  cor- 
ner of  Kentish  Street ;  and  then,  with  a  half  sigh  and  a 


96  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

muttered  benison,  he  turned  into  the  hostel,  to  comfort 
himself  with  a  liberal  morning  posset. 

Through  that  day,  and  the  next,  and  the  next,  Hawk- 
wood  and  his  followers  rode  steadily  onward ;  making  the 
best  speed  they  could,  without  distressing  their  cattle, 
along  the  main  road  to  the  southeastern  coast,  through 
Rochester,  Sittingbourne,  Charing,  and  Canterbury.  No 
incident  worthy  of  record  befell  them  till,  on  the  fourth 
afternoon,  from  a  crest  of  rising  ground,  they  saw  the 
old  Roman  walls  of  Richborough,  rising  like  a  rocky 
islet  out  of  the  dreary  marsh-land ;  and,  beyond  this, 
houses  clustered  on  either  side  of  a  harbor  estuary ;  and, 
further  yet,  gleams  of  wet  sand  and  a  broad  selvage  of 
foam.  And  two  of  the  wayfarers  felt  the  mingling  of 
pleasure  and  wonderment  common  to  all  who  for  the  first 
time  draw  into  their  nostrils  briny  air,  and  for  the  first 
time  listen  to  the  language  of  the  sea. 

Very  few,  riding  through  so  long  a  march  side  by  side 
with  Gian  Malatesta,  would  have  been  proof  against  the 
fascination  of  his  manner,  when,  as  now,  he  wished  it  to 
be  winning.  His  glib  tongue  never  seemed  to  weary  as 
he  told  stories  of  adventure  in  many  lands,  racy  and  pic- 
turesque and  stirring  enough,  yet  not  so  redolent  of 
rapine  as  to  shock  or  revolt  the  listener ;  whilst,  through- 
out, he  had  the  tact  to  avoid  egotism  and  affect  modesty — 
hinting  at,  rather  than  avowing,  the  share  that  he  him- 
self had  borne  in  orgie  or  broil.  Ever  and  anon,  too, 
his  rich,  round  voice  would  break  out  into  snatches  of 
melody — English  drinking  ditty,  French  rondelai,  or, 
more  frequently,  a  canzonet  of  his  own  land ;  specially  in 
these  last,  the  veriest  stranger,  to  whom  the  words  were 
meaningless,  might  have  guessed  that  he  sang  of  love — 
love,  not  of  the  heart,  but  of  the  senses — not  a  high  ro- 
mantic devotion,  but  passion,  half  selfish  and  wholly  sin- 
ful. At  each  hostel  or  wayside  inn  where  they  made  halt, 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  97 

the  Italian  had  banter  or  admiration  ready  for  every 
buxom  face  or  trim  figure  that  crossed  his  path;  but  he 
carried  not  his  jest  to  the  verge  of  licentiousness,  and 
refrained  from  all  undue  excess  in  liquor.  Altogether,  it 
would  have  been  difficult  to  find  a  pleasanter  fellow- 
traveler,  and  Ralph  could  not  but  own  that  the  way  was 
made  shorter  by  his  company. 

Despite  the  genial  and  generous  feelings  pervading  his 
nature — like  gold  damasquing  iron — the  youth  was  im- 
bued with  that  hard,  stubborn  obstinacy  which  the  North- 
men express  by  the  one  word  'dour' ;  he  was  of  the  stuff 
of  which  staunch  friends  and  staunch  haters  are  made, 
and  changed  neither  his  likes  nor  dislikes  lightly.  On 
the  fourth  day  of  their  society,  the  vague  distrust  and 
aversion  which  he  had  felt  at  his  first  meeting  with  the 
Italian,  were  little  if  anything  abated.  It  was  not  that 
he  showed  himself  in  anywise  churlish  or  sullen ;  he 
smiled  at  the  other's  jests,  listened  to  his  stories  with 
unfeigned  interest,  and  praised  his  songs,  whether  he 
understood  them  or  no.  Once  the  other  spoke  of  the 
brawl  which  had  so  nearly  ended  fatally,  still  marveling 
on  his  own  discomfiture. 

"I  served  long  ago,"  Malatesta  said,  "with  one  Michael 
Tregarva,  who  averred  himself  to  have  kept  the  ring  for 
a  year  and  a  day  in  the  barbarous  country  where  he  was 
bred — Corn-ou-alle,  I  think  he  called  it.  He  was  but  a 
clumsy  lubbard,  and  a  lying  braggart  to  boot.  With  him 
I  practised  many  an  idle  hour,  till  I  had  learned,  or 
thought  I  had  learned,  each  foin  and  foil  he  could  teach ; 
but  that  sleight  of  foot  and  hip  which  laid  me  low  so 
deftly,  is  utterly  strange  to  me.  I  would  be  much  be- 
holden to  your  courtesy  an'  ye  would  bestow  on  me  a 
lesson  at  fitting  season." 

"  Tis  a  simple  trick  enough,"  Ralph  answered,  "though 


98  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

the  foil  is  something  harder  to  learn ;  and  I  will  do  mine 
endeavors  cheerfully  to  make  ye  perfect  in  both." 

So,  in  fair  outward  shew  of  amity,  if  with  no  great 
heart-kindness,  they  rode  in  together  to  Sandwich  town. 


r 


CHAPTER  XI. 

BEFORE  CALAIS. 

HERE  was,  in  Sandwich,  no  lack  of  means  of 
transport ;  for  never  surely,  before  or  since, 
hath  the  high  water-way  across  the  Straits 
been  furrowed  by  so  frequent  keels.  Almost 
daily,  fresh  supplies  or  munitions  were  needed  for  the 
mighty  host  with  which  the  English  King  held  Calais  in 
leaguer;  also  many  merchants  and  chapmen  flocked 
thither,  sure  of  a  quick  and  profitable  sale  of  their  wares ; 
for  French  gold  was  plenty  in  the  Ville  de  Bois,  specially 
since  the  return  of  Derby's  armament  laden  with  the 
plunder  of  Gascony  and  Poitou.  That  same  night  Hawk- 
wood  parleyed  with  the  master  of  a  carrack  then  ready 
for  sea ;  before  dawn,  he  and  his  followers  were  bestowed 
aboard,  and  they  sailed  out  of  Sandwich  with  the  morn- 
ing tide. 

Slowly  the  huge,  clumsy  craft  forged  ahead,  pitching 
and  wallowing  from  sheer  topheaviness — though  the 
swell  was  moderate,  and  the  breeze  fair — to  the  dire  dis- 
comfort of  Lanyon  and  others  making  their  first  essay 
of  seafaring.  Ralph  Brakespeare  fared  better,  for  long 
temperance  and  hard  exercise  made  him  proof  against 
qualms ;  yet  his  brows  throbbed,  and  his  eyes  swam  pain- 
fully ;  so  he  was  right  glad  when,  toward  close  of  day, 
Cape  Grisnez  loomed  nearer  and  nearer ;  and  more  glad 
still  when  they  cast  anchor,  in  as  shoal  water  as  they 
dared,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  throng  of  vessels — some 
transports,  some  ships  of  war — that  clustered  round  and 


ioo  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

blockaded  the  harbor.  Before  it  was  quite  dark,  the 
carrack's  boats  had  landed  the  passengers,  their  arms  and 
caparisons ;  and  the  horses,  forced  one  by  one  through 
a  vast  square  porthole  in  the  after-hold — half  swimming, 
half  wading — had  come  safely  to  shore. 

In  the  after-years,  full  as  they  were  of  varied  adven- 
ture, Ralph  never  forgot  the  first  night  he  spent  on  for- 
eign soil.  He  remembered  how  they  dried  and  cleansed 
their  chargers,  in  presence  of  Hawkwood,  there  on  the 
sea-sand,  till  the  beasts  were  fit  to  bear  caparison ;  and 
then,  mounting,  rode  in  the  same  order  as  they  had 
marched  before,  over  the  bridges  of  the  double  ditch 
forming  the  outwork  of  the  English  entrenchments ;  and 
passed  through  more  than  one  long  street  of  broom  or 
straw-thatched  huts,  till  they  came  into  the  broad  mar- 
ket-place, where  the  knight  bade  his  followers  halt  till 
he  had  spoken  with  the  camp-marshal,  who  could  allot 
them  quarters.  He  remembered  how,  sitting  there  in 
saddle,  he  had  listened  to  the  babble  of  many  and  divers 
tongues  till  his  ears  grew  dizzy ;  and  how  the  lonely  feel- 
ing of  isolation  overcame  him  more  and  more  as  the 
darkness  closed  in ;  and  how,  glancing  round  at  his  com- 
panions to  mark  how  they  bore  themselves,  he  envied 
Lanyon  the  stolid  indifference  into  which  the  archer's 
face  had  settled,  so  soon  as  the  throes  of  sea-sickness  left 
him  in  peace  ;  and  how  he  envied  yet  more  Gian  Malatesta 
his  experience  and  evident  familiarity  with  the  scene,  as, 
ever  and  anon,  the  Italian  exchanged  a  nod  or  careless 
word  of  greeting  with  some  passer-by.  He  remembered 
how  close  and  dark  and  stifling  their  huts  seemed  to  his 
eyes,  used  so  long  to  chambers  lofty  and  groined;  and 
how  through  the  night  he  tossed  restlessly  on  his  pallet, 
listening  to  the  tramp  of  the  sentinel,  till,  near  day- 
break, he  fell  into  a  broken  sleep,  troubled — for  the  first 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  101 

time  since  he  had  set  forth  thence — with  feverish  dreams 
of  his  old  home. 

But  the  feeling  of  novelty  soon  wore  off,  and  he  fell 
into  the  groove  of  daily  duty  with  the  quick  aptitude 
of  a  born  soldier ;  before  a  week  had  passed,  the  greyest 
veteran  there  was  not  more  thoroughly  at  home  than 
Ralph.  Neither  was  his  life  weary  nor  monotonous.  By 
Hawkwood's  order,  he  was  ever  seeking  to  improve  him- 
self in  the  martial  exercises  in  which  he  already  rarely 
excelled ;  he  took  his  turn  regularly  with  the  outposts, 
who  rode  forth  to  watch  and  check  the  foragers  of 
Boulogne,  St.  Omer,  and  Guisnes;  but  week  after  week 
passed,  without  Brakespeare's  crossing  lance  in  earnest. 
Sport  and  duty  brought  him  into  contact  with  new  com- 
rades more  to  his  taste  than  Gian  Malatesta ;  and,  though 
he  was  not  of  those  who  make  friends  fast,  he  was  pop- 
ular rather  than  otherwise ;  and,  where  he  was  liked,  he 
was  trusted.  Looking  at  the  quiet,  resolute  face  and 
eyes — frank  though  somewhat  stern — men  felt  that  it 
would  be  easy  to  find  a  blither  boon  companion,  but  hard 
to  light  on  a  better  backer  in  mortal  quarrel. 

Sir  John  Hawkwood  t  seemed  much  of  this  opinion. 
Albeit  reserved  and  taciturn,  he  showed  toward  the  youth 
marked  favor  in  his  grave  fashion  ;  and  not  seldom  vouch- 
safed word  or  gesture  of  approval  to  Lanyon,  who  toiled 
at  his  training  in  arms  with  a  dogged  perseverance  that 
well  replaced  adroitness. 

Ralph's  idle  hours,  too,  were  fully  amused.  Pleasant  it 
was,  after  Lent  was  done,  to  watch  the  pomp  and 
pageantry,  whilst  the  great  lords  of  Flanders,  Hainault, 
Brabant,  and  Germany  streamed  in  with  their  long  trains 
to  render  homage  to  the  prosperous  king  and  the  victress 
of  Neville's  Cross ;  and,  last  of  all,  came  Robert  of 
Namur,  with  the  tan  of  Syrian  sun  on  his  fair  young 
cheek,  to  proffer  himself  as  their  true  and  loyal  liegeman. 


102  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

Pleasanter  yet — to  watch  the  sheen  of  velvet,  the  glim- 
mer of  jewels,  and  the  glitter  of  brocade,  as  the  dames 
or  damoiselles,  who  waited  on  or  followed  Phillippa, 
swept,  with  flutter  of  veil,  sleeve,  and  contoise,  through 
the  Ville  de  Bois  on  their  palfreys,  or  tripped  daintily 
forth  from  the  thatched  pavilions,  where  dwelt  the 
knights  and  barons  of  their  kin. 

Very  often,  in  the  midst  of  this  gaiety,  the  youth  fell 
a  wondering  as  to  how  it  fared  with  those  within  the 
grey  ramparts  that — seamed  and  scarred  with  dint  of 
battering-engine — still  frowned  defiantly,  like  some  old 
warrior,  who  having  gotten  a  mortal  wound,  braces  him- 
self for  yet  another  onset. 

In  very  truth,  the  condition  of  the  Calaisois  was  such 
as  might  have  stirred  pity  in  a  harder  heart  than  Ralph 
Brakespeare's.  Slowly  and  surely,  hour  by  hour,  they 
were  forced  to  watch  the  lines  of  blockade  tightened 
around  them ;  till  their  case  might  be  likened  to  his  who, 
mured  in  the  Italian  torture-chamber,  saw  inch  by  inch 
the  walls  and  ceiling  slide  together,  that  one  day  should 
crush  him  out  of  shape  of  humanity.  After  that  des- 
perate night  sally  in  which  Arnold  d'Andregha  and  his 
fellows  carried  havoc  and  fear  up  to  the  very  portals 
of  the  royal  pavilion,  they  had  no  distraction  of  their 
long  agony  in  the  excitement  of  hand-to-hand  combat. 
At  regular  intervals,  less  and  less  frequent,  were  heard 
creak  of  trebuchet,  the  whistle  of  espringal,  the  rattle  of 
pateraros,  the  roar  of  bombards ;  but  they  guessed  that 
this  was  ordained  rather  for  display  or  practise  of  the 
English  artillery  than  with  any  serious  intent  of  making 
breach;  for  their  foe,  with  a  malign  patience,  forbore 
all  assault — not  choosing  to  waste  the  services  of  so 
potent  an  ally  as  famine.  No  lighter  pangs  had  the 
garrison  now  to  endure ;  seventeen  hundred  had  long  ago 
departed  whom  Edward,  with  somewhat  ostentatious 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  103 

charity,  dismissed  with  food  and  alms ;  since  then,  an- 
other detachment  had  been  thrust  forth;  but  the  mercy 
of  the  besieger  was  spent,  and  five  hundred  corpses  of 
women,  weaklings,  and  dotards — slaughtered  outright  by 
cold  and  hunger — made  hideous  and  noisome  the  space 
betwixt  camp  and  town.  And  still  too  many  mouths  re- 
mained to  feed. 

After  Warwick  scattered  with  sore  loss  and  shame 
the  Genoese  flotilla,  there  was  no  hope  of  open  succor  by 
sea.  Besides  the  galleys  that  patroled  the  Straits,  and 
Northampton's  war-ships  anchored  near  shore,  the  men- 
at-arms  and  archers  in  the  great  wooden  castle  set  up 
over  against  the  harbor-mouth  kept  such  jealous  watch 
and  ward,  that  scarcely  under  cover  of  the  darkest  night 
could  a  light  skiff  slip  out  or  in — even  were  it  manned 
by  Marant  and  Mestriel,  the  skilful  mariners  whose  deeds 
of  hardiesse  have  found  place,  not  unworthily,  amongst 
the  feats  of  arms  of  that  age.  To  make  their  own 
straits  more  keenly  felt,  in  their  ears  were  ever  sounds 
of,  revelry  from  without,  and  signs  of  unstinted  plenty 
in  their  eyes  ;  the  provision  alone,  that  they  saw  wasted  in 
the  market-place  of  the  Ville  de  Bois,  would  have  been  as 
a  royal  banquet  to  them.  Each  morning  faces  more 
gaunt,  and  wan,  and  wild,  looked  toward  the  rising  sun 
in  search  of  the  rescue  which  never  came.  Yet  still  faith 
and  loyalty  held  their  own  bravely.  If  men  gnashed  their 
teeth  and  groaned  within  their  own  dwellings,  none  mur- 
mured in  public;  and  whoso  should  have  spoken  of 
lowering  the  Ancient,  that  still  floated  vauntingly  as  ever 
on  the  topmost  tower,  would  have  died  a  traitor's  death. 

No  marvel  if  the  great  heart  of  John  de  Vienne  sick- 
ened within  him  at  sight  of  sufferings  that  he  could  not 
lighten,  and  of  despair  he  could  not  cheer ;  till,  after  tak- 
ing counsel  of  his  peers,  he  tried  one  last  appeal  to  their 
master.  He  himself  indited  that  letter — so  piteous  in 


104  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

its  rude  simplicity — of  which  a  copy  is  still  preserved. 

Close  under  the  town  ramparts,  and  protected  by  their 
artillery,  there  lay  a  swift  Genoese  galley ;  the  master  of 
which — half  soldier,  half  trader,  and,  on  occasion,  whole 
pirate — was  one  of  those  who — appraising  life  and  lib- 
erty at  a  certain  sum  of  gold — are  ever  ready  for  suffic- 
ing recompense  to  risk  either.  This  man  the  governor 
called  into  his  presence,  and  with  a  rich  bribe  persuaded 
him  to  carry  out  the  letter;  promising  further,  on  his 
knightly  honor,  that  the  guerdon  should  be  trebled  when 
it  reached  King  Philip's  hands-  Soon  after  midnight,  on 
a  strong  ebb  tide,  with  the  wind  blowing  freshly  from 
shore,  the  Genoese  put  out ;  having  as  his  pilot  one  of 
those  Abbeville  mariners  whose  luck  in  such  ventures  had 
hitherto  been  miraculous.  Past  the  castle  at  the  harbor's 
mouth,  unchallenged  by  the  sentinels,  whose  eyes  were 
blinded  with  rain  and  spray,  the  galley  glided  like  a 
ghost ;  but  the  meshes  of  the  toils  beyond  were  drawn 
too  closely  to  let  through  .even  such  a  light-winged  skim- 
mer of  the  seas  ;  before  long  she  was  encompassed  beyond 
hope  of  escape.  The  Genoese  was  no  hair-brained  gallant 
to  fight  to  the  death  against  desperate  odds.  Inured  to 
changes  of  fortune,  he  was  cool  and  honest  enough  to 
act  at  once  as  he  thought  best,  both  for  himself  and  his 
employer.  Weighting  the  precious  letter  with  an  axe- 
head,  he  cast  it  overboard,  just  before  he  lowered  his  sail, 
and  cried  out  to  be  surrendered. 

The  shoal  water  stretches  far  out  on  that  coast ;  and  the 
letter  sank  not  so  deep  but  that  some  keen  eyes  in  a 
patrol-boat,  when  the  sun  was  risen  and  the  tide  was  low, 
caught  the  glitter  of  steel  and  parchment  on  the  dark- 
brown  seaweed.  So  John  de  Vienne's  missive  was  opened 
by  King  Edward's  hands  ere  noon.  He  read  it  heed- 
fully  ;  and  then,  with  that  grim  irony  of  which  traces  are 
found  in  so  many  of  that  monarch's  words,  letters,  and 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  105 

actions,  forwarded  it  straightway  to  its  address ;  adding 
thereto  a  brief  taunting  message  of  his  own.  He  might 
have  done  this  in  wariness  or  subtlety ;  and,  confiding  in 
the  strength  of  his  own  position,  might  have  wished  to 
provoke  his  enemy  to  give  him  battle  at  disadvantage.  If 
this  were  so,  Edward  reckoned  not  ill.  Philip  of  Valois — 
lacking  both  skill  in  warfare  and  firmness  of  purpose — 
was  neither  so  craven  nor  cold  of  heart  as  to  be  patient 
under  insult  of  a  foe  or  death-peril  of  a  friend. 

The  tenor  of  the  intercepted  letter  had  spread,  as  such 
things  will  do,  through  the  English  camp ;  and  none 
marveled  when,  soon  after,  there  came  certain  rumors 
that  the  Oriflamme  of  France  was  cast  to  the  winds  once 
more,  and  that  Philip  had  bidden  all  who  owed  him 
vassalage  rally  round  it  at  Amiens,  by  Whitsuntide ;  hav- 
ing sworn  a  deep  oath  that,  by  the  grace  of  God  and 
Saint  Denis,  he  yet  would  break  Calais  leaguer. 


CHAPTER  XII. 
"MARGUERITE,  MA  MARGUERITE." 

OR  the  nonce  this  chronicle  has  less  concern 
with  the  fortunes  of  kings  and  kaisers  than 
with  a  certain  personal  adventure  which  befell 
Ralph  Brakespeare.  It  happened  in  this  wise. 
From  the  English  camp,  as  has  been  aforesaid,  were 
made  constant  excursions  ;  either  for  the  purpose  of  forag- 
ing, or  to  check  the  scattered  lances  who  rode  forth  from 
such  fortresses  of  Artois  and  Picardy  as  still  held  out,  or 
from  the  armament  with  which  John  of  Normandy 
sought  to  harass  the  besiegers.  On  this  service  Hawk- 
wood  was  often  employed ;  for  the  Earl  of  Lancaster, 
who  had  special  charge  of  the  scurriers,  held  the  knight 
in  high  esteem,  both  for  tact  and  courage,  and  loved  to 
see  him  in  command  of  a  clump  of  spears. 

On  a  certain  May  day,  Hawkwood  pricked  forth  at  the 
head  of  some  score  of  men-at-arms  and  half  the  num- 
ber of  demi-lances ;  turning  past  Courgaine  to  the  north, 
whence  incursions  had  been  most  frequent  of  late.  Noon 
was  long  past,  and  they  had  seen  no  trace  of  enemy  nor 
of  plunder  worth  the  harrying ;  for  the  country  had  been 
so  drained  and  desolated  that  it  could  scarce  provide 
victual  for  its  own  scanty  inhabitants.  It  was  wearisome 
travel  for  barded  chargers  through  white  drifting  sand, 
or  through  black  marshy  loam  ;  so  Hawkwood,  ever  loath 
to  distress  men  or  cattle  needlessly,  halted  by  a  rivulet 
in  a  little  hollow  overgrown  with  alders ;  first  detaching 
in  diverse  directions  several  pickets — as  they  would  now 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  107 

be  termed — each  consisting  of  a  man-at-arms  and  a 
hobelar,  to  guard  against  the  possibility  of  surprise,  or  of 
an  enemy  passing  unchallenged.  For  this  duty  Brake- 
speare  was  selected,  having  Lanyon  as  his  companion. 

As  Ralph  was  about  to  depart,  the  knight  beckoned 
him  aside,  and  thus  bespoke  him : 

"Canst  guess  why  I  have  bestowed  on  thee  this  charge, 
rather  than  on  an  elder  and  better  soldier?  It  is  be- 
cause I  like  thee  so  well,  that  I  would  be  loath  thou 
should'st  lose  occasion  of  advancement,  though  at  thy 
proper  peril.  Also  I  wot  thou  hast  chafed  inwardly  of 
late,  at  having  thus  far  proved  thy  manhood  by  no  feat 
of  arms.  Nevertheless,  it  behooves  thee  to  consider  that 
thou  art  no  knight-errant,  seeking  adventure  wheresoever 
it  may  be  found ;  but  a  sworn  liegeman — even  as  I  am — 
of  our  lord  the  King,  to  whom,  rather  than  to  thyself,  thy 
life  and  horse  and  armor  belong ;  so  that  thou  art  bound 
to  endanger  or  endamage  none  of  these  save  on  sufficient 
cause.  Wherefore,  if  there  be  occasion,  bear  thyself  rather 
warily  than  rashly  this  day.  Ride  not  far  beyond  the 
sound  of  our  trumpet ;  covering  yourselves  as  much  as 
may  be,  and  halting  in  some  convenient  spot,  whence  ye 
may  see  without  being  seen.  Ye  will,  doubtless,  give 
timely  notice  if  the  foe  show  himself  in  force — retiring 
yourself  speedily,  yet  not  disorderly.  If,  as  seems  not 
likely,  ye  come  suddenly  on  stray  foragers  not  exceed- 
ing three,  I  bid  ye  not  turn  bridle ;  but  deal  with  them  as 
ye  list,  and  God  and  Saint  George  give  you  good  speed ! 
Go  now  and  give  heed  to  what  I  say;  for  I  warn  not 
twice,  neither  do  I  trust  if  warning  be  slighted  or  trust 
bewrayed." 

The  manner  and  tone  of  the  speech  were  somewhat 
austere;  but  the  youth  felt  it  was  kindly  meant;  so  he 
promised  obedience  cheerfully,  and  rode  off  with  a 


io8  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

gladder  heart  under  his  breastplate  than  had  throbbed 
there  for  many  a  day. 

Some  half  league  or  so  from  the  spot  where  Hawk- 
wood  had  halted,  the  sandhills  trended  inward  from  the 
coast,  breaking  up  the  ground  into  low,  irregular  hillocks, 
through  which  wound  a  single  track,  beaten  down  and 
worn  by  broad-wheeled  wains,  in  many  places  sunken  feet 
below  the  surface  of  the  soil.  Here  Ralph  judged  it  best 
to  post  himself ;  for  beyond  this  the  country  grew  flat  and 
open  again,  and  an  armed  man  would  have  far  to  ride 
before  he  found  other  chance  of  cover.  So  he  dismounted, 
and  leaving  Lanyon  with  the  horses  in  the  hollow-way — 
where  they  were  perfectly  concealed — crouched  down  him- 
self under  the  crest  of  a  sand-hillock,  whence  he  had  far 
view  around — bare-headed,  lest  the  eye  of  some  wander- 
ing scout  should  catch  the  glitter  of  his  bascinet.  There 
he  lay  hour  after  hour,  till  weary  disappointment  replaced 
the  hopeful  excitement  with  which  he  had  set  forth ;  and 
glancing  toward  the  west,  where  the  clouds  were  red- 
dening already,  he  began  to  listen  for  the  note  of  recall 
which  he  knew  Hawkwood's  trumpets  would  sound  be- 
fore sundown.  Suddenly,  as  he  gazed  mechanically  back 
in  the  direction  where  he  had  watched,  his  heart  stood  still 
for  an  instant,  then  leapt  up  with  a  fierce  joy. 

Above  a  stunted  thicket  of  alders  and  willows  that 
fringed  the  track  some  two  furlongs  off,  came  the  sparkle 
of  spear-heads,  and  a  second  later  a  broader  glimmer  of 
steel ;  as  a  knight,  fully  caparisoned,  with  pennon  on  his 
lance,  appeared,  followed  by  another  horseman,  whom, 
even  at  that  distance  Ralph's  keen  eye  made  out  to  be  more 
lightly  harnessed.  With  a  mighty  effort  the  youth  mas- 
tered his  impatience,  and  lay  quite  still  till  he  was  certain 
that  the  pair  were  not  forerunners  of  a  more  numerous 
enemy.  A  long  sigh  of  relief  broke  from  his  lips  as  he 
withdrew  his  head  cautiously,  only  rising  to  his  feet  when 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  109 

he  was  well  under  cover  of  the  sandhill.  Lanyon,  roused 
from  a  half  doze  by  the  rattle  of  harness,  knew  by  the 
other's  look  that  something  was  afoot,  before  he  crouched 
down  to  catch  the  hurried  whisper. 

"Now,  our  Blessed  Lady  be  praised!  They  come 
straight  hitherwards ;  and  we  have  leave  to  deal  with 
them  as  we  list,  sith  they  are  but  two  against  two." 

The  yeoman's  grey  eyes  flashed  eagerly,  though  he  ut- 
tered never  a  word ;  and  a  faint  reflection  on  his  broad, 
bluff  features  of  the  battle-light  gleaming  on  the  Nor- 
man's face  showed  that  his  slower  Saxon  blood  was 
fairly  stirred. 

Some  few  yards  from  the  spot  where  they  stood,  the 
roadway  turned  a  sharp  corner,  and  then  ran  on  quite 
straight  and  level  for  near  a  hundred  yards,  between 
banks,  on  either  side,  about  stirrup-high ;  here,  too,  the 
ground  was  tolerably  sound,  though  sandy.  At  this  angle 
Ralph  took  post,  with  vizor  down,  and  his  lance  at  the 
carry ;  having  Lanyon  some  yards  to  his  rear.  Ere  they 
had  waited  three  minutes,  there  came  through  the  still 
evening  air  a  smothered  clash  of  steel,  and  the  low  clear 
notes  of  a  mellow  voice  chanting  a  virelay  in  the  musical 
langue  d'Oc;  and  the  foremost  rider  came  into  view 
round  the  opposite  angle  of  the  road  to  that  where  Brake- 
speare  sat.  He  reined  up  abruptly  when  he  saw  his  path 
barred  in  front.  If  surprised,  he  was  in  no  wise  discon- 
certed by  the  presence  of  an  enemy ;  but  trolled  out  the 
last  line  of  the  verse  he  was  singing  to  the  full  as  gaily 
as  he  had  begun  it. 

The  knight's  vizor  was  up,  and  Ralph  was  struck  by 
the  beauty  of  his  face,  enhanced  by  the  soft,  rich  coloring 
peculiar  to  the  south  of  France-  The  perfect  workman- 
ship of  his  armor  made  it,  perhaps,  seem  lighter  than  it 
really  was ;  yet,  with  its  fanciful  graving  and  ornament, 
it  appeared  more  fitted  for  tournay  or  pageant  than  the 


no  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

rough  usage  of  a  melee.  Round  his  neck  was  slung  a 
triangular  shield,  the  bearings  of  which  were  somewhat 
defaced,  like  the  blazonry  of  his  surcoat.  The  brown 
Limousin  which  he  bestrode,  though  lacking  not  power 
in  its  fine  sinewy  limbs,  looked  somewhat  light  and  small 
compared  to  Ralph's  great  roan  destrier.  His  helmet 
was  not  a  plain  bascinet  or  camail,  but  rather  molded  in 
tilting  shape,  bearing  both  crest  and  plume;  and  under 
the  crest  was  twined  securely  a  long  hawking-glove,  cur- 
iously wrought  with  silk  and  seed  pearls,  that  must  have 
been  worn  only  by  a  delicate  woman's  hand. 

Ralph  brought  his  lance  down  quickly  from  the  carry 
to  the  rest ;  but  the  French  knight  kept  his  own  pennon- 
celle  pointed  upwards,  and  waived  his  hand  in  token  that 
he  wished  to  parley.  There  was  an  easy  grace  in  the  ges- 
ture that  made  the  youth  half  ashamed  of  his  own  eager- 
ness, as  he  recovered  his  weapon,  and,  raising  his  own 
vizor,  advanced  to  meet  the  other,  who  had  already  ridden 
some  paces  nearer. 

"Beau  sire"  the  stranger  began  in  good  Norman- 
French,  when  he  was  fairly  within  car-shot,  "before  we 
come  to  mortal  arbitrement,  may  I  crave  of  your  courtesy 
to  answer  me  two  brief  questions  ?  First,  I  would  know 
how  far  is  this  spot  from  the  English  camp,  from  which 
doubtless  you  have  lately  sallied  forth?" 

"Hard  upon  three  leagues,  as  I  should  guess,"  Brake- 
speare  answered  with  a  look  of  some  surprise. 

"Not  near  enough  by  half,"  the  Frenchman  muttered, 
biting  his  handsome  lip.  "Unless  worse  chance  befall 
him,  Raoul  hath  gotten  within  sight  of  the  trenches  ere 
now-  So  I  am  constrained  to  ask  further,  do  ye  two  hold 
this  pass  alone,  or  are  there  other  of  your  lances  near  in 
force  ?" 

Brakespeare  hesitated,  doubting  whether  he  were  right 
thus  to  parley  with  an  enemy;  but  something  in  the 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  in 

French  knight's  manner  forbade  suspicion  of  treachery. 
So  he  answered  after  a  while : 

"It  is  even  so.  There  are  none  of  our  folk  that  I  wot 
of  nearer  than  half  a  league,  where  Sir  John  Hawkwood, 
whom  I  follow,  halts  with  the  residue  of  his  lances." 

The  other  smiled,  as  though  well  pleased. 

"It  is  as  I  thought,  then.  And  now,  beau  sire,  lest  my 
questions  appear  to  you  unseemly,  I  have  you  to  wit  that 
yester-even  I,  Loys  de  Chastelnaye,  did  devise  with  Raoul 
de  Mericourt,  my  brother-in-arms,  concerning  certain 
matters  which,  in  fair  Provence,  are  judged  only  in  the 
court  of  love ;  and,  in  all  amity,  there  was  great  debate 
betwixt  us  ;  so  that  at  the  last  we  agreed  to  ride  forth  this 
day — each  with  a  single  esquire — and,  unless  put  back  by 
a  force  of  four  at  the  least,  to  prove  which  of  us  could 
carry  his  lady's  gage 'closest  to  Calais  gates.  'Las,  my 
destrier  cast  a  shoe,  and  with  sore  trouble,  after  hours' 
seeking,  did  we  light  on  a  smith ;  for  you  brave  English 
Have  frightened  Jean  Picard,  till  he  hath  become  shy  as 
a  field-rat.  Wherefore  if,  as  I  guess  from  your  bearing, 
ye  purpose  not  to  yield  me  passage  peaceably,  it  is  needful 
that  I  pass  on  in  your  despite.  This  place,  too,  is  mar- 
velousjy  well  fitted  for  running  a  course.  But,  good 
youth,  under  thy  favor,  I  had  rather  than  a  hundred 
crowns  that  thy  spurs,  if  not  golden,  had  been  silver  at 
the  least ;  for  perchance  thou  hast  had  scant  tournay  prac- 
tise, and  so  can  little  honor  accrue  to  me  from  the  en- 
counter. If  thus  it  be  with  thee,  avow  it  frankly.  Lo,  I 
will  forego  the  lance,  and  engage  with  mace  and  sword." 

Brakespeare's  temper  was  rising  fast  under  the  French- 
man's self-confidence  and  easy  condescension;  but  he 
curbed  it,  and  answered  very  calmly : 

"This  is  no  tilt-yard,  where  none  can  joust  unless  of 
lineage  approved  by  the  heralds ;  and  in  these  times  none 
can  say  how  soon  he  shall  change  the  metal  of  his  spurs. 


ii2  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

Beau  sire,  your  nobility  must  e'en  abase  itself  to  contend 
with  one  of  my  degree ;  for  an'  ye  were  willing  to  turn 
bridle,  I,  for  my  part,  am  not  willing  to  let  you  go  in  peace. 
It  may  be  I  have  better  skill  with  my  weapon  than  ye 
deem.  So,  set  on  and  spare  not,  looking  for  the  like 
measure  from  me." 

The  Frenchman's  face  never  lost  its  gay  good  humor, 
as  he  bowed  his  head  courteously. 

"I  am  fitly  reproved,"  he  said,  "for  I  spake  over  pre- 
sumptuously. De  pardicu,  all  true  men  are  equal  under 
shield.  Let  us  take  ground  speedily;  for  the  light  is 
waning  fast,  and  one  of  us  will  have  a  moonlight  ride. 
Call  on  your  patron  saint  when  ye  are  ready  to  do  your 
devoir,  and  I  will  answer  with  the  name  of  my  fair  lady- 
Marguerite,  ma  Marguerite!" 

Long  afterward,  Ralph  Brakespeare  remembered  how 
lovingly  the  speaker's  lips  lingered  over  that  last  word 
as  though — all  familiar  as  it  must  have  been — they  were 
loath  to  let  it  pass.  Within  a  few  moments  each  had  re- 
gained his  own  station.  The  Frenchman,  seeing  that  his 
adversary  bore  no  shield,  drew  off  his  own,  and  handed 
it  to  his  esquire,  saying  something  the  while  with  a  light 
laugh ;  Ralph,  too,  as  he  clasped  his  vizor  and  settled  him- 
self firmer  in  the  saddle,  driving  his  feet  well  home  in  the 
sautoirs,  found  time  to  say  some  hurried  words  over  his 
shoulder  to  his  follower,  who  was  in  a  state  of  unwonted 
excitement. 

"Honest  Will,  I  trust  well  to  lower  yonder  gay  plume ; 
for  I  have  vantage  in  weight  if  not  in  skill ;  but,  if  it  be 
otherwise,  since  I  purpose  not  to  take  mercy,  thy  tarrying 
here  will  naught  avail.  So  I  charge  thee,  in  such  a  case, 
to  hie  thee  back  to  Sir  John  Hawkwood  at  speed ;  and  tell 
him  that  I  thanked  him  heartily  for  this  chance  of  approv- 
ing myself,  though  it  pleased  God  that  I  should  fail." 

Then  Ralph  Brakespeare  laid  lance  in  rest ;  and  getting 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  113 

his  horse  well  in  hand,  cried  lustily,  "St.  George 
Guienne !"  and  drove  the  sharp  rowels  in ;  clear  and  mel- 
low through  the  still  air,  came  the  answering  war-cry, 
"Marguerite,  ma  Marguerite!"  The  dust  flew  far  and 
wide  under  the  savage  plunge  of  the  roan  destrier  and 
bound  of  the  swifter  Limousin;  and  just  about  midway 
the  two  hurtled  together. 

At  the  first  shock  both  horses  sank  on  their  haunches, 
but  one  only  recovered  himself.  The  Limousin,  fairly 
overborne,  rolled  over  sideways  and  backwards,  till  he  lay 
helpless  athwart  the  roadway,  crushing  his  rider  against 
the  bank.  Nor  was  this  all ;  the  Frenchman's  lance  struck 
full  and  fair  on  Ralph's  breast,  and  was  shivered  to  the 
vamplate ;  but  the  Southwark  armorer  had  put  better 
metal  into  his  spear-head ;  it  pierced  sheer  through  the 
gay  corselet  and  the  habergeon  beneath,  just  above  the 
gorget,  and  the  tough  English  ash  only  broke  off  at  last 
close  to  the  embedded  steel.  Before  the  sand-cloud  had 
cleared  away,  Ralph  had  sprung  from  saddle,  and  holding 
his  misericorde  to  the  throat  of  his  fallen  foe,  bade  him 
"Yield,  rescue  or  no  rescue!" 

No  answer  came,  save  a  low  moan  of  intense,  half- 
conscious  agony,  as  dark  red  drops  oozed  not  only  from 
the  breast-wound  but  through  the  bars  of  the  vizor.  A 
strange  chill  horror  overcame  Brakespeare  as  he  felt  him- 
self for  the  first  time  in  presence  of  death — death,  too, 
dealt  by  his  own  hand.  Enmity  of  race,  the  fierce  delight 
of  battle,  the  flush  of  a  maiden  triumph,  were  all  swal- 
lowed up  in  a  deep  pity  nearly  akin  to  remorse.  He 
beckoned,  first  to  Will  Lanyon,  then  to  the  French  squire, 
to  come  to  aid  the  fallen  knight;  while  he  himself  held 
down  the  Limousin's  head,  lest  in  struggling  to  rise  he 
should  do  his  lord  further  hurt.  Slowly  and  painfully  the 
three  succeeded  in  disentangling  the  dying  man — for  that 
he  was  dying  none  doubted ;  and,  propping  him  against 


114  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

the  road  bank,  they  loosened  helmet  and  gorget.  Ralph 
would  have  given  much  to  have  undone  his  work,  as  he 
gazed  on  the  countenance  whose  marvelous  beauty  he  had 
marred.  The  features  were  already  pinched  and  drawn ; 
the  rich  color  of  the  cheeks  had  faded  to  dull  ashen  grey ; 
and  through  the  rigid  lips  a  thin  dark  stream  was  well- 
ing. The  Gascon  squire  showed  his  grief  after  his  im- 
passioned southern  fashion ;  wringing  his  hands,  and 
speaking  fast  in  a  dialect  that  Ralph  could  scarcely  com- 
prehend. Even  on  Lanyon's  rugged  face  were  manifest 
signs  of  compassion,  as  he  stood  holding  the  bridles  of  the 
loose  horses ;  for  by  this  time  the  Limousin  had  scrambled 
up,  seemingly  none  the  worse  for  his  fall. 

"Bring  water,"  Ralph  said  to  the  French  squire ;  and, 
kneeling  down,  he  rested  the  knight's  head  on  his  own 
shoulder.  The  pool  was  not  three  rods  off;  but,  before 
the  water  came,  Loys  de  Chastelnaye  had  begun  to  revive. 
The  flow  of  blood  from  his  mouth  abated ;  and,  as  he 
looked  up  and  saw  who  supported  him,  his  lips  relaxed 
into  a  faint  semblance  of  their  old  pleasant  smile.  When 
his  face  had  been  laved,  and  he  had  drunken  twice  or 
thrice,  he  spoke — almost  in  a  whisper,  but  quite  calmly 
and  clearly: 

"Pardie,  I  was  the  veriest  vantard  but  now,  and  I  am 
rightly  served.  Nevertheless,  I  take  no  shame  to  myself 
to  have  gone  down  before  so  strong  a  lance.  Scant  time 
have  I  for  parley ;  beau  sire,  this  my  esquire,  no  less  than 
I,  is  at  your  mercy;  but  Aymery,  my  good  cousin  and 
heir,  will,  I  know,  ransom  him  speedily.  Giles,  I  charge 
thee,  soon  as  thou  art  free,  make  all  speed  to  Hacque- 
mont ;  and  deliver  into  the  white  hands  of  the  damoiselle 
Marguerite  this  her  gage.  Say  to  her  that  I  have  done  it 
no  dishonor ;  but  have  borne  it  ever  so  forward  as  I  might, 
turning  bridle  before  no  single  foe,  till  thus  in  loyal  com- 
bat was  I  slain :  furthermore,  by  my  hopes  of  mercy  do  I 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  115 

aver,  that  since  she  kissed  these  lips  of  mine  they  have  been 
virgin  of  woman.  So  do  I  earnestly  entreat  of  her  pity, 
to  grant  unto  no  living  man  favor — be  it  ever  so  small — • 
for  the  space  of  one  year  and  one  day ;  after  that  she  shall 
be  assoilzied  of  her  troth-plight.  Let  her  grace  with  her 
dear  love  some  knight,  worthier  and  more  fortunate  than 
her  poor  servitor ;  and  may  the  saints  send  to  both  long 
life  and  Hesse." 

"Nay,  not  so,"  Ralph  broke  in,  so  soon  as  the  weak 
voice  ceased.  "Of  ransom  will  I  have  none ;  and  this 
your  squire  is  free  to  set  forth  when  he  will  to  carry  his 
message  of  dolor.  I  wis  not  what  maketh  me  so  heavy 
of  heart ;  but,  gentle  sir,  I  had  liever  have  miscarried  in 
this  my  first  proof  of  arms,  than  have  won  honor  at  the 
cost  of  your  fair  life." 

A  brief  gleam  of  pleasure  shot  across  the  other's  face, 
darkening  already  with  the  death-shadow. 

"Ay,  so?"  he  murmured.  "Long  since,  in  truth,  from 
your  manner  of  speech  might  I  have  guessed  that  I  dealt 
with  no  common  rentier.  To  God  and  to  the  holy  saints 
do  I  give  thanks,  that  by  no  churl's  hand  was  Loys  de 
Chastelnaye  sped.  For  this  your  kindness  may " 

The  benison,  if  such  was  meant,  was  choked  in  mid 
utterance  by  a  fresh  gush  of  blood,  coming  now  in  sharp, 
quick  jets  ;  and  when  it  abated,  the  pulse  had  nearly  ceased 
to  beat.  Once  only  in  that  last  quiet  minute  of  life — for 
death  struggle  there  was  none — the  white  lips  moved ; 
and  Brakespeare,  bending  down  his  ear,  caught  what  may 
have  been  an  appeal  to  the  Virgin-mother's  mercy;  but 
Ralph  always  believed  it  was  a  woman's  name. 

For  some  brief  space  after  all  was  over,  the  youth  never 
stirred ;  suddenly  he  started  and  shifted  very  gently  the 
corpse  from  his  shoulder  to  the  ground  beside  him,  for  he 
heard  Hawkwood's  trumpet  sounding  the  recall-  All  his 
soldierly  instinct  came  back  at  once,  and  he  was  a  man-at- 


Ii6  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

arms  again,  ready  and  willing  for  any  duty.  He  laid  his 
hand  almost  roughly  on  the  shoulder  of  the  Gascon  squire, 
who  seemed  still  well-nigh  distraught  with  grief. 

"Waste  not  time  in  wailing  here,"  he  said,  "thou 
knowest  what  thou  hast  to  do;  set  about  it  speedily. 
First, — it  behooves  thee  to  see  thy  lord's  body  carefully 
bestowed,  where  it  may  lack  no  due  rite  or  funeral 
observance ;  there  is  a  moustier  in  yon  wood  to  the  right ; 
I  heard  its  bells  chime  but  now.  That  rich  armor  will 
ensure  the  monks  their  guerdon,  if  they  grudge  free 
masses  to  such  a  knight's  soul.  His  destrier  wends  with 
me ;  but  thou  may'st  keep  thine  own,  which  I  perceive 
tarries  for  thee  there.  For  the  rest — I  have  set  thee  free, 
that  thou  mayest  do  thy  lord's  bidding  to  the  uttermost. 
If  thou  fail  therein,  or  linger  by  the  way,  the  shame  of 
broken  trust  is  thine." 

So — with  one  more  look  at  the  face  which  waxed  beau- 
tiful again  as  it  settled  into  the  death-calm — Ralph  picked 
up  his  headless  lance  from  where  it  lay ;  and,  after  glanc- 
ing heedfully  over  both  the  chargers  so  as  to  be  sure  that 
neither  had  suffered  from  the  encounter,  mounted  and 
rode  slowly  back  by  the  way  that  he  had  come ;  followed 
by  Lanyon,  leading  the  Limousin  by  the  bridle.  It  was 
characteristic  of  the  yeoman  that,  whilst  they  were  alone 
together,  he  troubled  his  leader  with  no  word  of  gratula- 
tion  or  triumph — whether  this  silence  is  to  be  set  down 
to  rough  natural  tact,  or  to  the  trouble  and  confusion  of 
his  simple  mind,  would  be  very  hard  to  determine- 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  DONNING  OF  SILVER  SPURS. 

HE  other  scouts  had  all  rejoined  the  main  body 
before  Brakespeare  and  his  follower  appeared ; 
and  none  brought  tidings,  or  had  seen  traces 
of  an  enemy ;  so  there  was  wonder,  and  per- 
chance a  little  envy,  among  some  of  Hawkwood's  follow- 
ers when  they  saw  how  Fortune  had  favored  the  young- 
est of  their  band.  On  their  leader's  usually  reserved  face 
there  was  frank  pleasure,  as  he  rode  out  some  paces  to 
meet  Brakespeare,  and  bent  his  own  head  in  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  other's  salute. 

"Where  leftest  thou  thy  lance-head,  my  son?"  he  said. 
"For  well  I  wot  it  was  not  idly  wasted.  And  how  comest 
thou  by  yon  gallant  war-horse?  Those  clean  limbs  anfl 
high  crest  never  were  nurtured  on  thin  Normandy 
pastures ;  but,  I  dare  swear,  near  the  banks  of  Garonne." 

"Scarce  some  half-hour  ago,"  Ralph  answered,  "a 
French  knight  came  to  where  I  was  posted,  with  his 
squire,  and  would  have  passed  on  in  my  despite,  not — as 
I  judge  from  our  brief  parley — with  purpose  of  plunder 
or  of  espial,  but  rather  in  discharge  of  some  chivalrous 
vow.  I  gainsaid  him,  as  in  duty  bound ;  and  we  ran  a 
fair  course,  wherein  it  was  my  evil  hap  to  wound  unto 
death  as  proper  a  gentilhomme  as  mine  eyes  have  ever 
looked  on.  He  called  himself  Loys  de  Chastelnaye." 

A  half-incredulous  murmur  spread  amongst  the  men- 
at-arms  who  sat  within  ear-shot,  and  Hawkwood  himself 
raised  his  eyebrows  slightly,  as  he  made  answer: 


ii8  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

"Now  lift  thy  vizor,  good  youth,  that  I  may  read  in  thy 
face  if  this  be  jest  or  vaunt.  Dost  thou  come  back  to  tell 
me  thus  sadly  that  thou,  a  raw  youth,  hast  in  thy  first  tilt 
with  grinded  spears  slain  outright  the  Vicompte  de 
Chastelnaye,  whose  prowess  all  we  who  fought  in 
Gascony  or  Guienne  have  seen?  By  the  Rood!  if  thou 
sayest  sooth,  thy  valiance  is  less  wonderful  than  thine 
unconcern." 

Ralph  did  as  he  was  bidden,  and  all  could  see  that  the 
heaviness  on  his  countenance  was  not  feigned. 

"I  speak  as  I  was  told,"  he  answered  simply,  "and  men 
seldom  fable  in  the  death-throe.  Moreover,  on  the  hous- 
ing of  his  destrier,  there  is  blazonry  to  witness  if  I  lie." 

At  the  word  Lanyon  wheeled  the  charger  that  he  led, 
so  as  to  bring  full  into  view  the  escutcheon  on  the  cointise. 
The  three  gold  chevrons  on  a  sable  field,  not  a  few  there 
present  had  seen  before — seen  them  borne  on  a  broad 
banderol,  in  the  forefront  of  a  charge,  when  England  was 
sore  put  to  it  to  hold  her  own.  There  arose  another  mur- 
mur, this  time  of  honest  applause. 

"I  did  wrong  to  suspect  thee,"  Hawkwood  said,  "though 
it  seems  passing  strange.  At  another  time  I  will  hear 
how  it  all  befell.  Loys  de  Chastelnaye  bore  himself  ever 
as  a  true  knight;  and  died  not  cravenly,  I  dare  avow — 
God  rest  his  soul !  The  esquire,  seeing  his  lord's  misad- 
venture, doubtless  made  haste  to  flee?" 

"Nay,"  Ralph  answered,  "he  was  no  recreant ;  but  abode 
to  the  last,  giving  such  aid  as  he  might,  having  sur- 
rendered himself  prisoner  at  our  mercy.  Nevertheless, 
that  he  might  care  for  the  bestowal  of  his  lord's  body,  and 
bear  certain  messages  of  import  to  the  demoiselle  whom 
that  knight  served  loyally,  I  judged  it  best  to  let  him  go 
free.  Meseems  I  did  not  wisely." 

In  truth,  the  change  in  Hawkwood's  countenance 
showed  that  he  was  ill-pleased  by  what  he  now  heard. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  119 

He  was,  as  has  been  aforesaid,  no  chivalrous  hero  of  ro- 
mance, but  a  patient,  hardworking  soldier,  with  talents 
and  energy  enough  to  compensate  for  his  poverty  and 
lowly  birth,  not  apt  to  be  over  covetous  or  mean  in  his 
dealings,  yet  not  ashamed  to  avow  that  he  fought  for 
livelihood  no  less  than  honor.  However,  the  knight  re- 
covered himself  quickly,  and  cleared  his  brow  as  he 
answered : 

"I  cannot  chide  thee  to-day,  my  son.  Howbeit,  here- 
after forget  not  that,  by  all  laws  of  warfare,  the  harness 
and  arms,  no  less  than  the  person  of  the  vanquished,  are 
retained  for  the  profit  of  the  conqueror ;  and  that  none 
under  knight's  degree  may  relinquish  such  advantage,  or 
deal  with  such  at  his  pleasure,  save  by  special  leave  of  his 
superior.  The  ransom  of  De  Chastelnaye's  body-esquire 
should  not  have  been  cast  down  like  a  minstrel's  largess ; 
and  messages  to  dame  or  demoiselle  should  be  borne  by 
their  own  minion  pages,  not  by  gens  d'armes.  Thou  wilt 
not  so  err  again ;  and  thou  wilt  be  wiser,  too,  ere  long, 
than  to  call  such  chance  as  hath  befallen  thee — 'evil  hap.' 
None  the  less  will  I  care  that  thou  are  rewarded  after  thy 
deserts ;  needy  though  I  be,  I  may  still  dare  to  maintain  a 
single  esquire ;  as  such  shalt  thou  serve  henceforth,  by  the 
King's  leave,  unless  thou  preferrest  to  enter  some  more 
notable  household.  Then  I  will  speak  in  thine  behalf  to 
my  good  Lord  of  Lancaster,  who, hath  shown  me  some 
favor  of  late.  Make  not  thy  choice  in  haste,  but  soberly, 
and  without  fear  or  scruple.  Churl  were  I  to  begrudge 
parting  with  thee  for  thine  own  manifest  advancement. 
Now,  let  us  set  forward ;  I  love  not  night  marches  for 
naught,  and  these  roads  are  ill  traveling  in  the  dark." 

The  youth  bent  almost  to  his  saddle-bow  as  he  muttered 
some  words  of  thanks ;  and  fell  into  his  place  in  the 
column  by  the  side  of  Gian  Malatesta,  as  it  moved  off. 
He  was  so  busy  then  and  for  some  while  afterward  with 


120  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

his  own  reflections,  that  he  noticed  not  the  malignant  fire 
gleaming  in  the  Italian's  eyes. 

Every  wayfarer  through  this  world  must  needs  encoun- 
ter certain  points  in  his  journey  where  the  main  track 
divides.  For  a  while  the  two  paths  may  run  so  near  to 
each  other  that  they  may  seem  still  almost  one;  but  they 
will  diverge  more  and  more  till,  ere  they  end,  their  issues 
lie  as  widely  apart  as  those  of  good  and  evil,  light  and 
darkness,  life  and  death.  So  was  it  now  with  Ralph 
Brakespeare.  Had  he  availed  himself  of  Hawkwood's 
really  unselfish  kindness,  and  attached  his  fortunes  to 
those  of  some  powerful  noble,  there  is  little  doubt  that  the 
change  would  have  been  both  to  his  profit  and  honor. 
Men  of  martial  desert  rose  high  and  quickly  in  those 
stirring  times ;  and  perchance  Brakespeare's  name  might 
have  been  recorded  with  those  of  Chandos  and  many 
others,  who  forced  open  the  gates  of  wealth  and  renown 
with  the  points  of  their  good  swords.  But  the  stubborn 
hardihood,  ingrained  in  his  nature,  stifled  the  suggestions 
of  prudence  and  ambition.  When  he  cut  himself  adrift 
from  family  and  friends,  and  cast  his  very  name  behind 
him,  he  severed  himself,  in  intent,  no  less  decisively  from 
the  class  in  which  he  was  born  and  bred  than  if,  as  a 
novice,  he  had  taken  upon  him  the  vows  of  humility  and 
poverty.  With  a  scrupulousness,  surely  somewhat  fan- 
tastic, he  was  not  ashamed  of  his  nom-de-guerre  whilst  he 
followed  John  Hawkwood,  the  lowly-born,  self-made 
adventurer ;  but  he  cared  not  to  wear  it  in  the  train  of  one 
who  might  possibly  claim  kinship,  however  distant,  with 
the  houses  of  Dynevor  or  Warenne,  and  amongst  esquires 
of  gentle  blood,  who  might  once  have  been  reckoned  his 
peers.  Moreover,  he  had  conceived  a  certain  kindness 
and  respect  for  his  commander;  and,  having  once  em- 
barked his  hopes  in  that  modest  craft,  he  was  minded  to 
see  the  voyage  out,  through  fair  weather  or  foul,  rather 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  121 

than  shift  to  the  deck  of  any  one  of  the  statelier  caravels 
sailing  in  their  company.  So  late  in  the  evening  Brakes- 
peare,  after  rendering  duteous  acknowledgments  of  the 
choice  proffered  to  him,  declared  himself  willing  to  serve 
on  as  Hawkwood's  esquire,  rather  than  to  enter  the  house- 
hold of  the  Earl  of  Lancaster  himself. 

Sir  John  was  more  pleased  than  he  cared  to  show ;  for, 
sooth  to  say,  since  his  offer  was  made,  he  had  more  than 
once  reproached  himself  for  his  own  generosity ;  viewing 
it  in  the  light  of  an  extravagance  he  could  by  no  means 
afford.  Yet  perhaps  there  was  nothing  feigned  in  the 
emotion,  apparent  both  in  his  voice  and  manner,  as  he  laid 
both  his  hands  on  Ralph's  shoulders,  saying,  simply  and 
earnestly : 

"My  fair  son,  I  trust  well  that  ye  may  never  have  cause 
to  rue  those  gentle  words  of  thine.  It  may  be  one  day 
poor  John  Hawk  wood  may  have  somewhat  better  than 
thanks  wherewith  to  repay  such  as  follow  him  loyally. 
Keep  thou  with  me ;  and  do  thy  devoir,  even  as  thou  hast 
done  this  day;  then — if  my  will  shall  be  equaled  by  my 
power,  and  I  forget  thee — call  me  recreant  and  man 
sworn." 

So,  with  a  few  more  words,  it  was  settled;  and  that 
night  the  youth  shifted  his  quarters ;  thenceforth  it  was 
his  duty  to  abide  under  the  same  roof  as  the  knight  whom 
he  served  as  esquire.  Perchance  it  was  for  his  own  weal 
or  another's  that  he  did  thus  change ;  for,  in  the  breast 
of  one  who  lay  in  the  other  tent,  festered  such  jealousy 
and  malice  that  there  might  have  been  ill  work  ere  morn- 
ing. 

"Bestie!"  the  Italian  muttered  through  his  grinded 
teeth.  "See  how  these  poor  English  swine  cleave  together. 
May  the  black  pest  rot  them,  body  and  bone !  Here  is  a 
springald  dropped  from  none  knoweth  whence — a  found- 
ling or  a  bastard,  belike — who,  for  one  lucky  lance-thrust 


122  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

in  his  first  encounter,  hath  gotten  advancement  such  as  in 
years  of  service,  wherein  I  have  spared  my  own  life  no 
more  than  other  men's,  hath  never  befallen  me — me.  in 
whose  veins  runs  the  right  sangue  azurra." 

He  broke  off  for  an  instant,  laughing  his  low,  peculiar 
laugh  so  full  of  insolent  devilry. 

"True  it  is  that  my  own  house  would  have  hunted  me 
to  the  death,  for  having  made  mine  uncle  taste  my  dagger ; 
but  of  this  the  fools  hereabout  know  naught.  Per  Dio! 
I  would  this  same  hilt  came  not  ever  so  cursedly  ready" — 
his  lithe,  white  fingers  were  caressing  it  longingly.  "Had 
he  lain  here  to-night,  with  his  broad  breast  open  under  the 
moonshine,  I  doubt  if  I  could  have  forborne  it ;  ay — 
though  I  had  to  flee  again  before  the  avengers  of  blood. 
I  owed  him  one  shrewd  turn  before ;  and  to-day  the  debt 
is  doubled.  If  I  pay  not  all  the  score  one  day  in  full,  then 
were  I  no  true  Malatesta,  and " 

It  were  better  not  to  render,  even  faintly,  the  volley  of 
bitter  blasphemy  that  rounded  off  the  speech.  With  no 
better  orison  the  Italian  lay  down  to  rest;  and  after  a 
while  slept  soundly  as  ever  did  monk  betwixt  matins  and 
prime.  To  him,  as  to  better  men,  the  night  brought 
counsel ;  and  on  the  morrow  he  was  able  to  congratulate 
his  late  comrade,  suavely  and  monotonously;  mingling 
with  the  warmth  of  his  manner  the  slightest  shade  of  re- 
spect, too  delicately  conveyed  for  suspicion  of  irony. 

And  so,  while  spring  waxed  into  summer,  matters  went 
on  smoothly  enough,  no  special  incident  breaking  the 
routine  of  siege  warfare. 


o 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

HOW  CALAIS   WAS  WON. 

N  the  eighteenth  day  of  July,  the  Earl  of  Derby 
set  forth  with  a  sufficient  force  of  men-at-arms 
and  footmen,  intending  to  make  descent  on  a 
great  cattle  fair,  then  appointed  to  be  held  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Amiens.  But  on  the  third  day  of 
march,  when  he  had  advanced  some  ten  leagues  into  the 
enemy's  realm,  a  scout  spurred  in  with  the  news  that  a 
mighty  French  host  was  already  moving  forward  from 
Amiens,  where  it  had  been  gathering  since  Whitsuntide. 
So  the  Earl,  being  a  commander  no  less  politic  than 
valiant,  judged  it  best  to  fall  back  on  the  English  en- 
trenchments, driving  before  him  five  thousand  sheep  and 
two  thousand  beeves.  True,  the  old  soudards  who  had 
rioted  in  the  plunder  of  Poitou,  scorning  to  cumber  them- 
selves with  aught  less  precious  than  gold,  and  gimmals, 
and  plumes  of  knightly  crests,  thought  scorn  of  such  hum- 
ble booty;  but  it  was  very  welcome  in  the  Ville  de  Bois 
where  supplies  had  grown  less  plentiful  since  the  country 
round  had  been  laid  waste. 

It  was  no  false  rumor  that  the  foragers  brought  back. 
The  sluggish  spirit  of  Valois  was  at  the  last  fairly  stirred 
by  the  piteous  wail  for  help  and  vengeance  that  had  gone 
up  not  from  Calais  alone,  but  from  all  Artois  and  Picardy. 
The  unhappy  peasants  cried  aloud  they  could  endure  their 
misery  no  longer,  and  would  rather  submit  themselves  as 
liegemen  to  the  English  king,  than  endure  at  close  quar- 
ters the  extremity  of  his  anger.  Neither  did  the  greatness 


124  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

of  the  armament  misbeseem  the  urgency  of  the  need ;  few 
of  those  who  owed  vassalage  to  France  were  absent  on 
the  muster-day.  Normandy,  Bourbon,  Foix,  Burgundy, 
Hainault,  Savoie,  Armagnac,  and  Valentinois,  headed 
the  long  roll  of  those  who  saw  the  Oriflamme  unfurled : 
and  there  marched  forth  from  Amiens  to  Arras  not  less 
than  two  hundred  thousand  of  all  arms,  covering,  from 
vanguard  to  baggage-train,  three  full  leagues  of  ground. 

From  the  very  first,  doubt  and  difficulty  beset  Philip's 
advance.  Free  passage  to  the  northward  was  barred  by 
the  sturdy  Flemings  who  had  of  late  waxed  so  bold  in 
the  cause  of  their  English  ally  as  to  lay  siege  to  Aire  and 
carry  fire  and  sword  to  the  gates  of  St.  Omer  and  Tour- 
nay.  To  the  southwest  betwixt  him  and  Calais  lay  leagues 
of  marshes,  only  to  be  traversed  by  narrow  causeways — 
ere  this,  doubtless,  well  guarded  by  the  foe.  Yet  still  he 
moved  forward  perchance,  without  any  definite  plan  of 
attack,  through  Hesdin,  Wissant,  and  Falkenberg,  till  his 
tents  were  pitched  on  Sandgatte  within  view  of  the  be- 
leaguered town.  Eyes  that  never  by  night  or  day  wearied 
in  their  watch  from  Calais  walls,  caught  the  flaunt  of  ban- 
ner and  the  play  of  moonbeams  on  steel  and  canvas ;  and 
the  hearts  of  the  famished  garrison  leapt  up  in  a  rush  of 
joy;  even  as  the  hearts  of  castaways  at  sea,  who,  their 
last  morsel  spent  and  their  last  beaker  drained,  see  sails 
swelling  against  the  sky  to  windward.  All  at  once,  on  the 
topmost  tower  sprang  up  a  tongue  of  flame,  and  the  beal- 
fire  blazed  till  long  after  dawn ;  then  flaunted  in  the  sight 
of  the  besiegers,  not  the  Ancient  of  France  alone,  but 
the  banners  of  many  puissant  barons  whom  the  Calaisians 
guessed  to  be  coming  to  the  rescue,  and  all  through  early 
noon  horns  and  trumpets  rang  out  alarms  and  flourishes 
of  defiance. 

Yet  was  it  but  a  very  mockery  of  rescue  after  all.  Hour 
after  hour,  day  after  day,  the  gorgeous  armament  lay 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  125 

encamped  at  Sandgatte,  achieving  no  worthier  feat  than 
the  destruction  of  a  puny  wooden  fortalice  and  a  few 
skirmishes  of  outposts ;  for  their  marshals  after  survey 
of  the  country  brought  back  ever  the  same  heavy  tidings, 
that  to  Calais  there  was  no  way  save  by  the  Downs,  under 
the  full  fire  of  the  English  fleet's  artillery;  or  by  the 
marshes  that  no  barded  horse  could  pass;  or  by  narrow 
causeways  leading  to  the  Bridge  of  Neuillet  that  none 
might  hope  to  force  in  the  teeth  of  Derby  and  his  men- 
at-arms.  Vainly,  too,  did  Philip,  in  the  bitterness  of  his 
disappointment,  strive  to  tempt  forth  his  wary  foe  from 
his  entrenchments  to  trial  of  force  in  the  open  plain  ;  King 
Edward  had  proved  his  courage  so  often  and  fairly  that 
he  could  now  afford  to  despise  knight-errantry.  So,  to 
Eustace  de  Ribeaumont  and  those  other  three  who  brought 
Philip's  challenge,  he  replied  in  some  such  words  as 
these : 

"Messires,  I  perfectly  understand  the  request  you  have 
made  me  from  my  adversary  who  wrongfully  keeps  pos- 
session of  my  inheritance,  which  weighs  much  upon  me. 
You  will  therefore  tell  him  from  me,  if  you  please,  that  I 
have  been  on  this  spot  near  a  twelvemonth.  This  he  was 
well  informed  of,  and,  had  he  chosen  it,  might  have  come 
here  sooner;  but  he  has  allowed  me  to  remain  so  long 
that  I  have  expended  very  large  sums  of  money,  and 
have  done  so  much  that  I  must  be  master  of  Calais  in  a 
very  short  time.  I  am  not,  therefore,  inclined  in  the  small- 
est degree  to  comply  with  his  request,  or  to  gratify  his 
convenience,  or  to  abandon  what  I  have  gained,  or  what  I 
have  been  so  anxious  to  conquer.  If,  therefore,  neither 
he  nor  his  army  can  pass  this  way,  he  must  seek  out  some 
other  road." 

Not  less  vain  were  the  good  offices  of  the  pious  cardin- 
als, mediators  for  peace  sent  by  Pope  Clement  from 
Avignon,  to  stand,  if  it  were  possible,  betwixt  the  living 


126  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

and  the  dead  and  stay  the  plague  of  war.  King  Edward 
held  in  his  iron  glove  the  fair  prize  for  which  he  had 
waited  so  patiently  and  paid  so  dear;  if  force  of  arms 
could  not  unlock  his  gripe,  he  was  little  likely  to  relax  it 
in  obedience  to  the  voice  of  the  Holy  Church,,  ay,  though 
if  instead  of  meekly  whispering  intercession  she  had 
spoken  in  thunder. 

One  morning  at  dawn  the  hill  of  Sandgatte  loomed  dim 
through  thick  smoke-wreaths.  Philip  had  fired  his  tents, 
and  row  was  falling  back  to  hide  his  shame  and  disband 
his  vassals  within  the  walls  of  Amiens.  And  soon,  of  all 
that  great  host,  no  traces  were  left  save  the  blackened 
ruins  of  their  encampment ;  and  dismantled  wains,  sur- 
rounded by  frequent  corpses  of  stragglers  that  lay  along 
the  road  nearly  up  to  the  city  gates,  showed  how  merci- 
lessly the  English  horsemen  had  harrassed  the  rear  of  the 
retreat. 

No  marvel  if  the  tough  hardihood  of  Calais  was  faiily 
broken  at  last — no  marvel  if  John  de  Vienne,  still  sick  of 
his  sore  wounds,  yielded  to  the  prayer  of  the  weak,  pip- 
ing voices,  and  wild,  hollow  eyes  that  encompassed  him. 
Nay,  who  shall  blame  these  unhappy  citizens  if  in  agony 
of  spirit  they  trampled  under  foot  the  banner  they  had 
upheld  so  long  whilst  they  hoisted  the  English  ensign  in 
token  of  surrender. 

Then  ensued  one  of  those  famous  passages  wherein 
history  treads  so  closely  on  the  verge  of  romance  that  the 
two  seem  for  awhile  as  one.  But  that  scene  in  the  con- 
querors' pavilion — the  six  noble  hostages  kneeling  hum- 
bly, yet  not  cravenly,  in  the  midst ;  the  shame  and  anger 
of  Manny  and  his  peers  whose  intercession  had  been 
denied;  the  King,  with  his  dark,  passionless  face  set  in 
the  same  cold  smile  as  it  wore  at  Cre9y,  when  he  would 
send  no  help  to  his  first-born  at  his  sorest  need,  but  bade 
him  win  his  spurs  alone ;  the  pale,  beautiful  Queen,  paler 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.        127 

yet  with  languor  of  imminent  travail,  whose  pleading 
at  the  last  prevailed ; — all  these  things  have  been  por- 
trayed so  often  by  pen  and  pencil  that  they  shall  not  be 
touched  here. 

One  word  only.  There  have  been  raised  since  grave 
historic  doubts  whether  all  this  be  not  a  flattering  legend, 
designed  to  embellish  the  fairly-written  volume  that 
Jehan  de  Froissart  laid  at  Phillippa's  feet.  Yet  surely 
those  who  cavilled  not  at  the  honor  of  Leonidas,  Decius, 
and  Maccabee,  might  have  been  content  not  to  meddle 
with  the  wreath  that  posterity  has  hung  over  the  ashes  of 
Eustace  de  St.  Pierre  and  those  other  five  who  laid  down 
their  lives  so  royally.  Was  it  worth  while  to  undergo 
the  shame  of  the  halter,  the  sorrow  of  the  parting,  and  the 
long  bitterness  of  anticipated  death  only  to  find  matter 
for  some  pragmatical  schoolman,  or  critic  who  would 
thrive  on  literary  infidelity? 

Howsoever  these  things  may  have  been,  in  some  kind 
or  other  Calais  paid  her  heavy  accompt.  Yet  the  mercies 
of  her  conqueror  were  very  cruel.  Of  all  that  he  found 
alive  within  the  walls  Edward  suffered  none  to  abide, 
save  some  three  or  four  grey-beards,  whose  knowledge 
of  the  place  was  useful  for  the  establishment  of  the  new 
colo.nists ;  for  the  rest,  such  as  bore  arms,  when  they  were 
fit  to  travel,  betook  themselves  to  Guisnes ;  the  others 
were  fain  to  seek  for  a  livelihood  and  home  as  best  they 
might  if  they  chose  not  to  ask  alms  by  the  wayside.  Very 
soon  the  streets  through  which  lately  only  a  few  gaunt, 
famine-stricken  shadows  had  wandered  began  to  be 
thronged  with  bluff  English  faces.  For  not  only  from 
London  came  at  the  King's  behest  two  score  citizens  of 
substance  and  repute,  with  their  families,  'prentices,  and 
craftsmen;  but  Kent  sent  over  her  wool-staplers,  cur- 
riers, yeomen — sturdy  saplings  who  cared  not  a  whit  for 


128  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

transplanting,  so  their  roots  were  wet  with  the  golden 
stream. 

On  a  certain  day  it  chanced  that  Sir  John  Hawkwood 
went  to  wait  on  Sir  Walter  Manny — under  whose  im- 
mediate command  he  was  then  placed — taking  with  him 
his  esquire.  As  the  two  turned  a  street-corner  they  came 
full  on  a  decent-looking  burgess,  evidently  one  of  the  new- 
comers. As  the  knight  passed,  the  man  had  just  lifted  his 
hand  to  his  cap ;  but  when  he  came  close  to  Ralph  Brake- 
speare,  who  walked  some  paces  in  the  rear,  he  doffed  it 
and  louted  low,  muttering  some  words  of  salute.  Much 
to  the  other's  discomfiture  the  youth  passed  on,  taking 
no  more  heed  of  the  courtesy  than  if  he  had  been  deaf  or 
blind.  Whilst  the  honest  currier  lingered  there  with  a  blank 
look  of  angry  surprise  on  his  face,  he  was  accosted  by 
Gian  Malatesta,  who,  loitering  in  the  sun — as  was  his 
wont  when  not  on  duty,  or  over  the  wine-cup — had  wit- 
nessed what  had  passed  from  the  other  side  of  the  street 
and  crossed  over  unperceived.  The  Italian  was  too  wary 
at  once  to  broach  the  subject  of  his  curiosity;  so  he  be- 
gan with  some  commonplace  question  as  to  the  where- 
abouts of  a  cordwainer  of  some  repute,  intimating  that 
he  judged  from  the  other's  appearance  that  he  spoke  to 
one  of  the  trade.  When  he  had  been  satisfied  on  these 
points,  or  sufficiently  so  for  his  purpose,  Malatesta,  with 
glib  and  courteous  thanks,  turned  as  though  to  depart, 
but  suddenly,  as  if  recollecting  himself,  he  said  care- 
lessly : 

"If  I  err  not,  worthy  sir,  there  is  some  acquaintance 
betwixt  thee  and  yonder  fair  youth,  albeit  he  did 
strangely  slight  thy  greeting." 

The  bluff  burgess  shook  his  head  rather  sorrowfully 
for  his  short-lived  anger  was  passed. 

"I  have  good  reason  to  know  him,"  he  answer.  "Was 
I  not  nurtured  within  a  mile  of  the  castle  of  his  father — 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  129 

erst  time  my  very  good  lord?  Marry,  I  was  right  loath 
to  lose  sight  of  Bever  keep,  when  mine  uncle  would 
have  me  to  Sandwich  to  help  him  in  his  trade.  Though, 
I  thank  the  saints,  I  have  striven  since  not  ill.  I  mind 
him  from  the  time  when  he  scarce  could  sit  astride  on  a 
war-saddle  till  he  grew  up  into  a  proper  stripling,  well- 
nigh  as  tall  though  not  so  stalwart  as  he  now  is.  Then, 
though  he  was  seldom  merry  of  mood  and  brooked  no 
license,  he  had  ever  gentle  word  and  kindly  look  both  for 
vassal  and  villein ;  and,  if  we  wended  the  same  road,  he 
thought  not  scorn  of  my  poor  company.  I  marvel  what 
hath  changed  him.  Right  sure  I  am  that  he  knew  me 
when  our  eyes  met  though  'tis  years  since  we  fore- 
gathered." 

The  Italian's  black,  bushy  brows  were  bent  as  if  in 
thought  or  displeasure. 

"How  callest  thou  the  lord  his  father?  And  canst 
expound  unto  me  wherefore  the  heir  of  a  noble  house 
taketh  service  and  wage  of  a  simple  man-at-arms?" 

"Sir  Simon  Dynevor  begat  him" — the  other  made  an- 
swer— "but  I  said  not  Messire  Ralph  was  the  heir.  The 
knight  was  duly  wedded  in  his  early  youth  to  a  daughter 
of  Warenne  whose  blood  to  the  full  matched  his  own. 
But  holy  church  disallowed  the  marriage,  for  that  those 
two  were  close  of  kin ;  and  the  poor  lady  died,  as  I  have 
heard,  in  her  first  travail ;  so  the  child  was  cheated  of  his 
heritage.  What  name  he  chooses  now  to  bear,  I  know 
not ;  but  in  old  times  they  ycleped  him  ever  Fitzwarenne." 

Malatesta's  lip  curled  slightly  though  his  brow  low- 
ered still. 

"A  bastard,  I  fear  me" — he  said,  smoothly — "in  the 
eyes  of  the  law,  though  'tis  a  hard  case  and  a  piteous. 
Yet  I  blame  Ralph  Brakespeare — such  is  his  title  now — 
in  that  he  demeaned  himself  so  haughtily  towards  thee 
but  now.  True  it  is  that  he  hath  lately  been  advanced  to  be 


130  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

esquire  to  Sir  John  Hawkwood,  under  whom  I,  too, 
serve  as  vintenar.  Tis  a  way  of  the  world,  as  doubtless 
has  not  escaped  thine  experience ;  new  honors  make 
men  forget  old  friends." 

"Nay,  not  so" — the  other  returned  sturdily.  "Messire 
Ralph  is  none  of  such  time-serving  coistrels.  Neither  is 
advancement  to  esquire's  estate  such  credit  to  his  father's 
son  that  he  should  wax  misproud  thereafter.  He 
changed  not  his  title,  I  dare  be  sworn,  for  shame  or  fear ; 
and  for  his  demeanor  anon  he  had  reason  good.  If  he 
speak  not  next  time  we  foregather,  I  will  not  chafe 
thereat,  neither  will  I  accost  him ;  but  only  under  my 
breath  wish  him  God-speed." 

The  Italian's  smile  waxed  insolent  and  bitter. 

"A  most  Christian  currier" — he  said — "such  an  one  as 
hath  scarce  been  seen  since  St.  Paul  wrought  at  thy  trade. 
Heaven  keep  thee  in  such  holy  frame !  With  which  beni- 
son  I  dismiss  thee  to  thy  sport  or  business." 

So  leaving  his  companion  more  puzzled  than  he  had 
found  him,  Malatesta  strode  away,  muttering  through 
his  beard  as  he  went : 

"No  beggar's  brat  after  all.  but  nobly  born;  so  nobly 
that,  but  for  a  priest's  juggle,  he  might  have  carried  his 
head  as  high  as  he  listed.  By  the  blood  of  Bacchus !  I 
hate  him  threefold  more  than  I  did  yester-even  and  that  is 
no  light  word." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  BATTLE  OF   THE   CAUSEWAY. 

HE  bustle  and  turmoil  of  arrival  and  departure 
was  over  at  last  Queen  Phillippa — after  safe 
deliverance  of  a  daughter — sailed  for  England 
with  her  consort.  In  Calais  were  left  only  the 
new  settlers,  with  the  strong  garrison  in  which  Hawk- 
wood  and  his  followers  were  numbered ;  and  whilst  au- 
tumn passed  into  winter,  all  in  the  town  rested  as  men 
love  to  rest  after  long  and  sharp  toil,  never  witting  that 
they  were  as  those  who  keep  watch  on  a  wall  well-nigh 
already  mined.  For  Emeric  of  Pavia,  governor  of  the 
castle,  whom  King  Edward  trusted  as  his  own  right 
hand,  had  been  tempted  by  the  French,  and  was  in 
covenant  to  open  the  gates  at  a  fitting  time  and  season  to 
Geoffrey  de  Chargny  who  held  command  at  St.  Omer. 
Before  the  treason  was  complete,  tidings  thereof  were 
brought  to  Windsor ;  and  the  wary  monarch,  disdaining 
to  wreak  his  anger  on  one  head  howsoever  guilty,  con- 
trived to  turn  the  plot  to  his  own  advantage.  The  shame- 
less Lombard  was  only  too  ready  to  purchase  his  own 
safety  at  the  price  of  a  double  treason. 

The  last  day  of  December  saw  Edward  and  his  son 
back  again  at  Calais.  They  sailed  into  the  harbor,  not  as 
they  had  gone  out  with  flourish  of  trumpet  and  flaunt 
of  standard,  but  under  cover  of  a  black  winter's  night  in 
a  lull  betwixt  storms.  On  that  very  night  Emeric  of 
Pavia  had  covenanted  to  open  the  Boulogne  gate  to  De 


i32  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

Chargny  and  his  men-at-arms.  But  first  the  blood-money 
was  to  be  paid,  and  paid  it  was  no  less  punctually,  than 
the  pieces  of  silver  to  the  most  famous  of  traitors  four- 
teen centuries  before.  Scarcely  had  Odoart  de  Renty 
and  those  who  bore  the  gold  lightened  themselves  of 
their  base  burden  when  they  found  themselves  hopelessly 
trapped,  with  no  choice  but  to  render  themselves  to 
Edward's  mercy.  Half-an-hour  later  the  Boulogne  gate 
was  cast  wide  open  in  the  face  of  De  Chargny  and  his 
company  and  the  dark  arch  vomited  forth  a  torrent  of 
spears.  In  the  fore  front  of  the  column  floated  the  guidon 
of  Manny,  and  behind  it  came  the  banners  of  Suffolk, 
Stafford,  Montacute,  Beauchamp,  and  Berkeley ;  only  the 
standard  of  the  master  of  them  all  was  not  displayed  for 
it  was  the  King's  will  to  fight  that  night  unknown. 

Now  Geoffrey  de  Chargny  was  a  hardy  knight  and 
loyal,  though  he  had  come  thither  on  a  disloyal  mission ; 
and,  when  the  first  surprise  was  past,  he  and  all  his  com- 
pany bore  themselves  right  worthily.  They  felt  them- 
selves indeed  in  desperate  case.  In  their  front  was  the 
enemy,  whose  strength  must  needs  overmatch  their  own ; 
and  on  either  flank  the  hungry  morass  waiting  for  its 
prey  wounded  or  dead ;  and  miles  of  the  narrow,  darkling 
causeway  must  be  traversed  ere  they  could  hope  to  fall 
back  on  their  rear-guard.  It  may  be,  too,  that  De 
Chargny  guessed  that  the  crossbowmen  of  St.  Omer 
and  the  knights  of  Picardy  who  held  Neuillet  Bridge 
would,  ere  long,  be  sore  put  to  it  to  hold  their 
ground.  Howsoever  this  may  be,  when  the  French  had 
rallied  from  their  first  panic  none  spoke  of  flight  or  sur- 
render; they  lighted  down  from  saddle,  and  drove  their 
destriers  away ;  and  then,  entrenching  themselves  behind 
the  fence  of  their  shortened  lances,  awaited  the  English 
onset.  They  had  not  long  to  wait  for  Edward,  though 
he  neglected  no  duty  of  generalship,  and  at  once  sent  off 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  133 

a  detachment  to  take  the  foe  in  rear,  cared  not  to  defer 
his  vengeance.  Yet,  when  he  saw  the  attitude  of  the 
gallant  little  company,  he,  too,  judged  it  best  to  dismount 
his  followers,  and  so  advanced  to  the  encounter. 

Amidst  all  the  war-pictures  of  that  stirring  time,  there 
are  few  more  striking  than  this  one — few  more  vividly 
marked  with  the  stamp  of  the  pure  and  romantic  chivalry 
that  began  under  Charlemagne  and  ended  under  Charles 
the  Emperor. 

First  under  the  darkness,  then  under  the  grey,  chill 
dawn,  the  combatants  wrestled  together,  locked  hand 
to  hand  and  foot  to  foot ;  neither  side,  for  a  while,  giving 
or  gaining  ground,  like  mighty  stags  countering  on  a  nar- 
row hill-track.  There,  under  Manny's  banner,  Edward 
and  his  son  did  their  devoir  as  simple  knights ;  but  with 
every  sweep  of  the  king's  sword  rang  out  his  favorite 
war-cry,  "Ha,  Saint  Edward !  Ha,  Saint  George !"  And 
many  stout  English  hearts  waxed  stronger,  as  they  knew 
that  their  liege,  even  as  themselves,  was  bearing  up  the 
burden  of  the  battle. 

In  this  his  first  hand-to-hand  encounter,  Ralph  Brakes- 
peare  demeaned  himself  not  amiss.  Glancing  aside  some- 
times as  he  fought,  Hawkwood  found  his  esquire  ever  at 
his  shoulder,  laying  on  lustily  with  a  ponderous  mace ; 
but  suddenly  the  knight  heard  a  crashing  blow  close  be- 
hind him,  and,  when  he  turned,  Ralph  Brakespeare  was 
down.  It  was  well  for  the  youth  that  he  had  listened  to 
Hawkwood  that  night,  who,  looking  for  sharper  work 
than  usual,  had  bidden  him  put  on  his  camail  under  his 
bascinet ;  otherwise,  surely  he  would  have  been  sped. 
As  it  was,  the  dint  was  so  sore  that  it  brake  the  outer 
steel  and  for  a  brief  space  the  esquire  lay  under  trampling 
feet  as  one  dead.  His  armor  shielded  him  from  further 
injury.  After  a  while,  the  mellay  surged  forward  past 
the  spot  where  he  had  fallen,  so  when  Ralph  struggled 


134  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

up  with  swimming  eyes  and  dizzy  brain,  he  was  able  to 
breathe  freely.  But  his  was  one  of  those  hardy  natures 
that  never  know  when  they  are  beaten  and  take  ordinary 
rough  usage  as  a  matter  of  course,  if  not  of  health.  As 
soon  as  the  first  faint  numbness  passed  away,  Brakespeare 
shook  himself  till  his  harness  rattled  again ;  and,  gripping 
his  mace,  which  he  had  never  let  go,  tighter,  plunged  once 
more  into  the  press. 

The  fury  of  the  battle  was  abating  fast,  for  the  French, 
pressed  back  by  sheer  weight  of  numbers,  were  forced  to 
give  ground,  not  without  sore  loss  of  knights  slain  out- 
right on  the  causeway,  or  thrust  over  the  brink  to  perish 
miserably  in  the  morass.  Nearer  and  nearer  in  their  rear 
rang  out  the  English  trumpets,  and  De  Chargny  knew 
that  Neuillet  Bridge  had  been  forced  so  that  they  were 
hemmed  in  on  all  sides  now.  To  fight  longer  would  have 
been  very  madness  of  self-sacrifice ;  and  this  Eustace  de 
Ribeaumont  felt,  to  whom  was  given  the  palm  of  prowess 
where  so  many  deserved  well.  Twice  that  night — little 
witting  of  the  prize  so  nearly  in  his  grasp — he  had  strick- 
en King  Edward  to  his  knee,  and  now  to  him  delivered 
his  sword  knowing  nothing  more  of  his  enemy's  quality 
than  that  he  had  shown  himself  worthy  to  receive  it. 
This  was  the  sign  for  a  general  surrender. 

So  Emeric  of  Pavia  kept  his  word,  after  the  fashion  of 
Sathanas  with  his  dupes.  He  had  indeed  opened  the 
Boulogne  gate  to  Chargny  and  his  company,  and  such  of 
them  as  were  left  alive  thereof,  did  sup  that  New  Year's 
night  at  Calais  castle.  For  King  Edward — being  one  of 
those  whose  hearts  are  softened  rather  than  hardened 
by  victory — was  jocund  of  mood  and  feasted  as  he  fought, 
right  royally ;  entreating  both  friends  and  foes  with  the 
like  frank  courtesy ;  only  Eustace  de  Ribeaumont  was  set 
in  the  chief  place  of  honor. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  135 

This  converse  took  place  in  Hawkwood's  quarters 
whilst  his  esquire  helped  him  to  doff  harness : 

"Fair  son,"  said  the  knight,  "this  day,  for  the  second 
time,  thou  hast  doughtily  approved  thy  manhood; 
wherefore  give  God  thanks  as  is  due.  There  may  be 
many  who  rush  hotly  to  their  first  encounter,  but  few  so 
steadfast  therein  as  not  to  lose  somewhat  of  their  vantage 
at  weapons.  I  was  not  so  busy  but  that  I  had  leisure 
to  mark  thy  bearing,  and  I  perceive  that  thou  lackest 
coolness  no  more  than  courage ;  yet  never,  since  first  I 
drew  sword,  have  I  seen  sharper  passage  of  arms  than 
yonder.  Give  thanks,  too,  for  thine  escape.  Once  I 
thought  thou  hadst  gotten  thy  death-wound,  and  trust 
me,  I  was  right  heavy  of  heart,  though,  had  I  stooped  to 
succor  thee,  I  myself  had  been  sped." 

"Twas  a  shrewd  dint,"  Ralph  answered  with  a  light 
laugh,  "and  'tis  no  marvel  if  mine  ears  are  singing  still. 
Marry,  I  owe  it  to  your  worship's  wisdom  that  my  brain- 
pan is  whole,  for  it  went  sheer  through  the  bascinet  and 
scored  the  camail." 

Hnwkwood  took  his  esquire's  helmet  from  the  settle 
whereon  the  other  had  cast  it  down,  and  looked  upon  it, 
at  first  with  an  idle  curiosity,  but  as  he  looked  his  coun- 
tenance changed. 

"A  swashing  blow,"  he  muttered  at  last,  "yet  a  craven- 
ly  withal,  and  felonly  delivered.  Seest  thou  not  from  the 
slant  thereof  that  it  must  needs  have  been  dealt  from  be- 
hind thee?" 

"Nay,  I  had  not  noticed,"  Brakespeare  answered,  in- 
differently. "Nathless,  I  see  not  how  it  could  be.  My 
memory  is  somewhat  dazed ;  yet  I  mind  not  to  have  heard 
any  cry  'Saint  Denis'  behind  me;  besides,  as  your  wor- 
ship knows,  the  French  were  then  somewhat  giving 
ground.  'Twas  a  chance  blow  from  one  of  our  own  side, 


136  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

mayhap,  meant  for  another.  The  light  was  doubtful 
even  then,  and  the  mellay  rude." 

Hawkwood  shook  his  head.  He  was  one  of  those  who, 
coming  not  hastily  to  conclusions,  are  exceeding  obstinate 
in  maintaining  them. 

"That  was  no  chance  blow  nor  a  glinting  one ;  neither 
was  it  aimed  at  any  life  save  thine.  Wottest  thou  with 
what  manner  of  weapon  it  was  delivered?" 

"With  mace  or  gisarme,  I  should  guess,"  Ralph  re- 
plied. But  this  time  his  carelessness  was  rather  assumed 
than  real  and  his  cheek  flushed  slightly. 

"Ay,  or  with  curtalaxe,"  the  other  said  darkly.  And 
as  the  eyes  of  the  two  met,  each  knew  what  thought  was 
in  the  other's  mind.  Such  a  weapon  of  curiously 
damasqued  Milan  steel  hung  ever  at  Gian  Malatesta's 
saddle-bow. 

With  an  angry  impatience  most  unusual  in  him,  Hawk- 
wood  cast  the  bascinet  crashing  down ;  and  strode  back- 
wards and  forwards  twice  or  thrice  through  the  cham- 
ber, muttering  under  his  breath — 

"By  the  Mother  of  Mercy!  if  this  can  be  proven 

Canst  thou  help  me  to  the  truth  ?  It  is  thy  bounden  duty 
so  to  do;  I  charge  thee,  on  thine  oath,  neglect  it  not. 
Have  we  then  fouler  traitors  among  us  than  Emeric  of 
Pavia?  A  malison  on  these  false  Lombards,  say  I.  No 
true  man's  life  is  safe  in  their  company." 

As  the  knight  stood  still  waiting  for  an  answer,  his 
esquire  bent  the  knee  before  him  reverently. 

"I  do  beseech  your  worship,"  he  said,  "to  grant  me  this 
— the  sole  grace  that  I  have  asked  at  your  hands  since 
you  over-praised  my  poor  deserts — make  no  further 
inquiry  into  this  matter.  I  aver  on  mine  honor,  that 
proof  have  I  none,  and  shame  it  were  that  any  on  bare 
suspicion  should  underlie  your  disfavor.  There  is  no 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  137 

reason,  that  I  wot  of,  why  any  should  practise  against 
this  poor  life  of  mine.  But,  if  such  there  be,  'Forewarned 
is  forearmed,'  quoth  the  proverb,  I  fear  not  but  I  shall 
hold  mine  own." 

HaWkwood's  heavy  form  relaxed  as  he  leaned  one  hand 
on  his  esquire's  shoulder,  looking  down  into  his  face 
with  something  like  fatherly  kindness. 

"I  may  not  deny  thee,  fair  son.  Thou  hast  thy  will. 
I  pray  that  neither  thou  nor  I  repent  having  let  this 
matter  sleep.  If  hereafter  thou  comest  by  foul  play,  I 
swear  not  to  sit  at  board  with  knights  till  the  misdeed  be 
avenged  and  till  by  fast  and  penance  I  have  cleared  my 
soul  of  blood-guiltiness.  But  from  such  evil  hap  Christ 
sain  us !  Do  thou  disport  thyself  for  the  rest  of  this  day 
and  night  amongst  thy  fellows:  right  well  have  ye  all 
earned  your  pastime.  For  me,  I  am  bound  to  sup  in  the 
castle  to-night  where  our  good  lord  the  king  hath 
deigned  to  require  my  company." 

On  the  morrow,  when  his  little  troop  paraded,  Hawk- 
wood's  brow  grew  dark  again,  as  he  saw  a  mace  hang- 
ing at  Malatesta's  saddle  in  place  of  the  curtalaxe. 

"Hast  thou  lost  thine  Milan  weapon?"  he  asked  cuitly 
and  sternly. 

Not  a  muscle  of  the  Italian's  well-trained  face  stirred 
as  he  made  answer : 

"Yea ;  for  the  first  time  it  played  me  false  yestermorn. 
The  handle  shivered  in  my  grasp  early  in  the  mellay ;  so 
that  I  was  forced  to  betake  me  to  estoc  and  dagger.  I 
searched  for  the  head  when  the  causeway  was  clear ;  but 
some  prowler  had  been  beforehand  with  me,  and  I  found 
it  not." 

In  very  truth,  he  who  should  have  lighted  on  that 
good  piece  of  armorer's  work  must  have  dived  a  fathom 
deep  into  black  marsh  ooze.  Gian  Malatesta  was  no 


138  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

clumsy  criminal — to  miscarry  by  leaving  such  proof  of 
his  guilt  as  might  have  been  furnished  by  fitting  edge  of 
curtaiaxe  to  cleft  in  bascinet. 


T 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

CASTING  THE  DICE. 

HERE  was  rare  revelry  that  New  Year's  night 
throughout  Calais  town.  In  the  Presence- 
chamber  the  vanquished  did  honor  to  the 
feast,  to  all  outward  seeming,  not  less  frankly 
than  the  victors.  There,  Emeric  of  Pavia  caroused  with 
that  desperate  merriment  not  uncommon  to  men  already 
within  the  shadow  of  doom,  for,  despite  his  brazen  as- 
surance and  cynicism,  the  Lombard  was  ill  at  ease.  Ever 
and  anon  over  the  wine  cup  he  caught  glances  of  hungry 
hate  and  he  could  not  mistake  their  bitter  promise.  Be- 
fore the  gold  for  which  he%bartered  his  honor  was  half 
spent  that  promise  was  fulfilled. 

There  was  much  mirth  and  jollity  too  in  the  ale-houses 
and  taverns  scattered  through  the  streets  and  clustered 
round  the  port ;  and  chiefly  in  a  certain  hostel  of  greater 
pretentions  than  its  fellows  on  whose  sign  the  Red  Cross 
had  lately  replaced  the  Lily  Flower.  This  had  of  late 
been  the  favorite  resort  for  the  esquires  and  better  sort 
of  men-at-arms,  who  on  certain  occasions  mingled  free- 
ly together,  especially  at  seasons  like  the  present,  when 
barriers  of  degree  were,  to  some  extent,  broken  down 
and  few  were  disposed  to  stand  over  much  on  their  dig- 
nity. 

In  the  common  room  of  the  Red  Cross  there  was  a 
motley  crowd  and  a  very  Babel  of  tongues.  But  the  loud- 
est talk  and  the  closest  press  were  in  a  certain  corner, 


140  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

whence,  in  the  lulls  of  clamor,  came  the  sharp  crack  of 
the  dice-box  and  the  rattle  of  the  dice.  Gamester  suc- 
ceeded gamester  in  quick  succession  at  the  small  round 
table  as  each  was  satisfied  with  his  gain  or  weary  of 
forcing  ill  luck.  But  one  man  had  kept  his  seat  there  as 
if  determined  to  encounter  all  comers ;  neither  giving 
nor  taking  quarter.  In  truth  Gian  Malatesta's  veine 
seemed  almost  supernatural  in  its  persistency  and  dura- 
tion. For  a  full  half-hour  the  tiny  pile  of  coins  with 
which  he  had  begun  had  gone  on  swelling  into  a  fair 
heap  of  gold  and  silver.  Sometimes — when  the  stake 
was  trifling — he  lost ;  but  so  soon  as  it  became  of  real  im- 
portance, he  was  sure  to  sweep  the  board. 

In  the  ring  of  lookers-on  stood  Brakespeare,  chained 
there  by  a  fascination  that  he  was  ashamed  to  own  to  him- 
self. The  youth  was  not  moved,  like  his  fellows,  either 
to  admiration  or  envy  of  the  successful  gambler ;  but  his 
loathing  and  hatred  of  the  smooth,  smiling  face  waxed 
hotter  every  instant.  The  low,  mocking  laugh  grated  on 
his  ears  intolerably ;  and  he  thought  he  could  discern  in 
the  black,  bright  eyes,  as  they  met  his  own,  the  insolent 
challenge  that  he  had  read  therein  on  the  first  night  of 
their  meeting.  Furthermore,  though  Ralph  had  not  gone 
far  beyond  the  bounds  of  temperance,  he  had  drunk 
more  deeply  than  was  his  wont,  and  the  Burgundy  grape 
had  a  greater  effect  on  a  brain  not  yet  fully  steadied 
from  the  rude  shock  of  the  morning.  At  length,  he 
could  no  longer  resist  the  temptation  to  oppose  himself 
personally  to  Malatesta.  A  German  esquire  had  just 
thrown  for  his  last  cast;  and  as  Wilhelm  von  Falken- 
stein  arose,  growling  out  a  curse  on  his  own  ill  luck  and 
folly,  Brakespeare  dropped  into  his  vacant  place. 

Certain  of  the  bystanders,  almost  strangers  to  the  two, 
were  struck  by  the  expression  of  the  Italian's  glance  as 
it  lighted  on  his  fresh  adversary.  For  an  instant  it  blazed 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  141 

out  with  a  savage  eagerness  and  then  sparkled  in  mock- 
ery— the  mockery  of  one  who  knows  his  triumph  is  sure. 
Some,  too,  noticed  that  the  face  of  the  younger  man  was 
strangely  set  and  stern  for  one  sitting  down  to  a  friendly 
cast  of  the  die. 

"I  scarce  had  reckoned  on  this  honor,  fair  sir,"  the 
Italian  said,  in  his  silkiest  tones — "so  'tis  the  more  wel- 
come. Never,  since  we  two  have  served  together  have 
I  known  you  to  court  Dame  Fortune — or  any  other 
demoiselle,  pardie — therefore  have  I  esteemed  you  as  a 
pearl  of  continence,  no  less  than  of  valor.  Sith,  for  this 
one  night  you  condescend  to  make  merry  with  us  ribands, 
for  what  stakes  is  it  your  pleasure  that  we  play  ?" 

Ralph  did  not  seem  to  notice  the  taunt  as  he  drew 
forth  some  half-dozen  gold  pieces  and  cast  them  on  the 
table,  without  speaking  a  word.  And  so  the  game  be- 
gan— the  very  simple  one  called  paume  carte,  in  which 
only  a  pair  of  dice  were  used. 

The  esquire's  gipsire  was  indifferently  well  furnished 
for  his  habits  were  frugal  and  his  expenses  few,  so  that 
the  small  store  he  had  brought  with  him  over  the  sea  was 
not  quite  spent;  furthermore,  he  had  received  his  full 
share  of  the  price  at  which  the  Limousin  destrier  was 
valued.  But  coin  after  coin  went  to  swell  the  Italian's 
winnings  till  not  one  remained  at  the  bottom  of  the 
pouch. 

Brakespeare  bit  his  lips  till  the  blood  sprang.  Besides 
the  feeling  of  personal  enmity  he  was  infected  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  with  the  real  gambling  fever.  His 
brain  grew  dizzy  again  with  passion.  For  a  second  or 
two,  he  saw  everything  as  through  a  mist,  and  the  mur- 
mured exclamations  of  those  who  stood  close  around 
him  came  to  his  ears  like  a  vague  distant  drone.  But 
he  saw  there  was  no  help  for  it.  He  was  preparing  to 


142  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

rise  mechanically,  when  the  Italian  spoke — this  time  with- 
out a  touch  of  sarcasm. 

"It  grieves  me,  gentle  sir,  that  you  should  have  fared  so 
ill  in  your  maiden  essay;  and,  by  the  body  of  Venus! 
I  can  afford  to  be  generous  to-night.  See,  now ;  I  will 
set  these  forty  golden  crowns  and  my  sorrel  against  your 
destrier.  'Tis  an  honest  brute  enough,  though  he  lacks 
fire ;  but  I  have  ever  fancied  the  roan  since  we  chaffered 
for  him  in  Southwark.  How  say  you?  Ye  can  deal 
with  the  horse  as  ye  list.  Was  he  not  bought  with  your 
own  broad  pieces?" 

The  other  nodded  his  head  hastily  as  though  afraid  of 
giving  himself  time  to  think.  The  chances  of  the  die 
did  not  change.  In  two  minutes  more  the  gallant  beast, 
who  was  to  Ralph  Brakespeare  a  dear  friend,  since  they 
ran  their  first  course  together,  had  passed  away  from  him 
to  the  one  living  man  whom  the  youth  hated,  to  be  used 
or  misused  to  the  other's  caprice. 

One  of  the  swift  revulsions  of  feeling  which  dispel,  as 
though  by  magic,  clouds  of  anger  or  strong  drink,  hap- 
pened to  Brakespeare  then.  Suddenly  his  brain  became 
so  cool  and  clear  that  he  could  smile  in  utter  scorn  of  his 
late  foolish  passion.  As  he  prepared  to  yield  his  place  to 
another,  his  hand  leaned  on  the  table,  in  the  act  of  rising ; 
and  the  light  of  the  sconce,  -hung  overhead,  fell  full  on 
the  ring  that  never  quitted  his  finger. 

"Stay  yet  an  instant,"  Malatesta  said  eagerly ;  his  eyes 
gleaming  with  avarice  and  exultation,  "  'tis  ill  quitting 
play  with  a  stake  left  you  worth  all  we  have  cast  for 
and  more.  None  but  fools  risk  all  on  one  cast ;  yet  I  care 
not.  Lo!  I  will  set  every  piece  I  have  this  night  won, 
and  thy  roan  destrier  to  boot  against  yon  balas  ruby  that 
sparkles  so  bravely." 

Ralph  had  a  hard  battle  with  pride  and  prudence  and 
conscience  besides,  ere  he  brought  himself  to  consent  to 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  143 

what  he  afterwards  repented  as  a  branding  shame.  Was 
it  not  disgrace  enough  that  his  good  destrier  should  be 
backed  by  Malatesta  without  periling  his  dead  mother's 
ring — to  be  flaunted,  perchance,  as  a  bait  to  covetous 
harlotry  ?  Yet,  as  had  been  aforesaid,  his  brain  was  quite 
clear  now ;  and,  with  one  of  those  inspirations  by  which 
fortunes  are  made  and  marred,  there  mingled  a  certain 
suspicion  which  decided  him. 

"So  be  it,"  he  said,  speaking  for  the  first  time  since  he 
sat  down,  in  a  hard,  unnatural  voice.  "Win  or  lose,  I 
swear  by  Holy  Rood  this  shall  be  my  last  cast  while  I 
live." 

A  hush  of  expectation  fell  on  the  circle  of  bystanders 
that  deepened  and  narrowed  round  the  table ;  whilst  the 
Italian  pushed  forward,  somewhat  ostentatiously,  the 
great  pile  of  his  winning,  and  Ralph  laid  down  over 
against  it  the  ruby  ring. 

"Hold  an  instant,"  Brakespeare  said,  just  as  Malatesta 
was  preparing  to  throw.  "Ye  may  call  it  superstition, 
or  what  ye  will ;  but  this  cast  will  I  not  risk  unless  some 
one  of  this  fair  company  place  the  dies  in  the  dice-box 
for  us  both." 

The  youth,  you  know,  was  very  keen  of  sight.  He 
had  noticed  that  in  his  companion's  casting,  one  die  came 
up  almost  invariably  a  six ;  and  the  ivory  of  this  one  he 
fancied  to  be  somewhat  lighter  in  hue  than  the  others — 
a  difference  not  apparent  when  he  himself  used  them ; 
also  he  had  noticed  that  the  other,  after  casting,  almost 
invariably  replaced  the  dies  in  the  box  before  passing  it 
over. 

Gian  Malatesta's  face  grew  black  as  thunder,  and  livid 
streaks  showed  themselves  under  his  clear  olive  skin ; 
but  one  glance  at  the  faces  round  them  told  that  he  could 
not  refuse  without  exciting  suspicion,  both  shameful  and 
dangerous.  Scant  mercy  would  cogger  of  dice  have  met 


144  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

with  at  the  rough  English  hands  that  would  have  dealt 
with  him. 

The  secret  of  his  success  was  very  simple.  By  a  palm- 
ing sleight  familiar  to  modern  sharpers,  he  substituted, 
when  his  turn  came  to  cast,  a  die  weighted  to  throw  high, 
for  one  loaded  on  the  reverse  principle ;  changing  them 
again  as  he  passed  the  box  to  his  opponent.  But  the 
Italian  was  too  thoroughpaced  a  gambler  to  be  proof 
against  the  temptation  of  playing  for  a  great  stake  on 
even  chances ;  though  he  infinitely  preferred  to  control 
fortune. 

"A  strange  fancy,  fair  sir,"  he  said,  sneeringly.  "But 
losers  have  large  license,  and  I  see  not  why  I  should  balk 
it.  Who,  now,  will  it  please  you,  shall  do  this  office  for 
us  both?" 

In  the  circle  of  bystanders  stood  Wilhelm  von  Falken- 
stein,  watching  the  play  with  the  sullen  envy  peculiar  to 
the  ruined  gamster.  Ralph's  eye  lighted  on  this  man  and 
he  pointed  him  out  without  speaking.  Malatesta  nodded 
assent,  also  silently.  So  the  German  came  forward,  and, 
dropping  the  dies  into  the  box,  pushed  it  towards 
Malatesta,  muttering  something  under  his  heavy  blond 
mustache  that  was  anything  rather  than  a  benison.  The 
dies  rattled  loud  and  long,  and  came  down  with  a  crash 
at  last.  The  numbers  were  seven — no  such  great  throw 
after  all ;  and  so  evidently  thought  von  Falkenstein  as  he 
did  his  office  again  with  a  grim  smile. 

Ralph  threw  quickly  and  carelessly ;  and  the  dies,  after 
rolling  over  twice  or  thrice,  as  though  to  tantalize  the 
lookers-on,  came  up  the  double  quatre. 

With  a  blasphemy,  so  ghastly  that  it  made  some  start 
and  shiver  who  understood  not  one-half  of  its  meaning, 
the  Italian  sprang  to  his  feet ;  whilst  at  the  same  instant 
rolled  out  the  German's  guttural  "Gott  sei  Dank!"  With 
the  first  natural  impulse  of  passion  Malatesta's  hand 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  145 

glided  to  his  dagger-hilt,  but  he  was  not  mad  enough  to 
attempt  violence  at  such  a  place  or  time.  After  one 
hungry  glance  at  the  glittering  heap  of  his  lost  gold,  and 
another  of  unutterable  hate  leveled  at  his  opponent,  he 
thrust  his  way  rudely  through  the  ring  of  bystanders, 
most  of  whom,  as  well  he  knew,  rather  gloried  in  his 
disaster,  and  cast  himself  down  on  a  bench  in  a  remote 
corner,  shading  his  face  with  his  hand. 

Ralph  Brakespeare  indulged  in  one  long  breath  of  re- 
lief, and  drew  the  ring  on  his  finger  once  more.  He 
seemed  in  no  wise  elated  by  his  success,  as,  pulling  the 
heap  nearer  towards  him,  he  began  counting  it  out  de- 
liberately. Not  a  few  of  those  whose  sympathies  had 
hitherto  been  wholly  with  the  English  esquire  were  both 
surprised  and  chagrined  at  seeing  him  now  bear  himself 
rather  like  a  trader  reckoning  his  gains  than  a  free-hand- 
ed gamester.  Ralph  continued  his  occupation  quite  un- 
concernedly till  he  had  counted  out  the  precise  number  of 
coins  that  he  had  owned  when  he  sat  down  to  play. 

"These  come  back  to  me,"  he  said,  as  he  thrust  them 
back  into  his  gipsire.  Then,  looking  round,  he  called  to 
the  host  of  the  Red  Cross  who  had  pressed  forwards 
with  the  rest  to  watch  the  last  cast  decided.  "Hark  thee 
here,  Jenkyn ;  can'st  thou  furnish  me  presently  with  can- 
vas bag,  wax,  and  twine?" 

When  the  matters  he  asked  for  were  brought,  Ralph 
swept  the  rest  of  the  gold  and  silver  by  handfuls  into  the 
bag,  and,  fastening  its  mouth  carefully,  stamped  the  wax 
laid  over  the  knots  with  his  ring,  the  curious  chasing  of 
which,  though  the  stone  was  not  graven,  made  a  very  suf- 
ficient seal. 

"It  is  not  that  I  doubt  thine  honesty,  good  mine  host," 
Brakespeare  said,  "but  yon  gold,  which  I  deliver  to  thy 
keeping  here  in  presence  of  this  fair  company,  is  Holy 
Church's  now,  not  mine.  To-morrow,  before  noon,  the 


146  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

almoner  of  St.  John's  Priory  will  visit  thee ;  to  him  shalt 
thou  render  thy  charge.  Every  broad  piece  there  shall 
buy  a  mass  for  the  souls  of  those  who  died  unshriven  in 
the  battle  of  this  New  Year's  morning.  The  hands  of 
anointed  priests  make  pure  things  howsoever  foul  or 
unholy ;  mine  are  sullied  enough  already  with  this  night's 
work  without  meddling  more  with  dicer's  gold." 

There  was  a  slight  stir  of  surprise  in  the  small  crowd 
which  still  surrounded  the  speaker;  but  most  of  his 
hearers  were  more  inclined  to  applaud  than  deride.  Acts 
of  lavish  generosity  and  self-sacrifice  were  not  uncom- 
mon in  those  days  when  knights,  in  achievement  of  their 
vow,  rode  half  blindfolded  into  the  fight ;  or,  having  im- 
poverished themselves  forever  to  win  the  barren  honors 
of  the  tournament,  cast  down  their  last  broad  pieces  in 
largesse  to  herald.  So,  though  not  a  man  present  would 
probably  have  followed  Ralph's  example,  few  were  dis- 
posed to  cavil  thereat,  or  even  greatly  to  wonder. 

But  another  black  drop  was  added  to  the  bitterness 
already  seething  in  Malatesta's  breast,  as  he  guessed  at 
the  truth — guessed  at  the  scornful  loathing  which  caused 
the  other  to  shrink  from  touch  of  his  gold  as  though  taint- 
ed with  plague.  From  that  time,  and  long  after,  the 
Italian  yielded  to  a  kind  of  sullen  despair  whenever  he 
thought  of  Ralph  Brakespeare.  Though  he  made  mock 
of  religion,  and  would  have  pledged  his  paramour  in  a 
chalice  from  the  altar,  he  was  superstitious  after  the 
fashion  of  his  birth-land,  where  spells,  philtres,  and 
charms  have  been  rife  since  the  days  of  Canidia.  He  had 
come  to  believe  that  the  youth's  star  was  more  powerful 
than  his  own,  so  that  only  at  a  planetary  conjunction, 
such  as  had  not  yet  appeared,  could  he  hope  to  prevail. 
Thenceforward  he  treated  the  Englishman  coolly  and 
cautiously ;  never  failing  in  the  deference  due  from 
vintenar  to  esquire ;  but  making  no  pretense  of  cordiality, 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  147 

and  avoiding  the  other's  company  whensoever  it  was  pos- 
sible. With  the  patient  ferocity  of  the  great  tropical 
snake  that  will  lie  coiled  near  the  pathway  for  hours  and 
days,  till  there  passes  by  fitting  prey  for  its  repast,  he  was 
content  to  bide  his  time. 

There  was  some  talk  on  the  morrow  in  Calais  town 
of  the  doings  at  the  Red  Cross  the  night  before,  and  they 
came  at  the  last  to  Hawkwood's  ears.  Though  the  knight 
shook  his  head  gravely  and  read  his  esquire  a  long  lec- 
ture on  the  sin  of  gaming,  he  was,  perchance,  not  ill 
pleased  at  heart.  Will  Lanyon  rubbed  his  hands  and 
laughed  in  noisy  triumph. 

"By'r  Lady,  Messire  Ralph,"  the  archer  said,  "I  had 
rather  than  any  miracle-play  have  seen  the  clipping  of 
yonder  gay  gled's  wings.  Set  England  against  Italy  in 
sport  or  earnest — if  they  do  but  play  or  fight  fair — and 
ft  will  be  hard  if  Saint  George  keep  not  his  own." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

AT  BORDEAUX. 

BOUT  this  time  other  causes  besides  the  cease- 
less intercession  of  the  good  old  peacemaker 
at  Avignon  so  wrought  upon  the  rival  kings 
as  to  incline  them  to  make  a  truce  which,  in 
form,  though  not  in  substance,  endured  for  some  years. 
It  was  not  that  either  was  weary  of  warfare,  or  ready  to 
abate  one  jot  of  his  pretensions ;  but  the  treasury  of 
France  was  well-nigh  drained,  and  all  the  plunder 
brought  from  over  the  sea  scarcely  lightened  the  tax- 
burdens  that  galled  the  necks  of  Edward's  Commons. 
Moreover,  though  the  name  of  England  was  terrible 
abroad,  the  hand  of  heaven  was  heavy  on  her  at  home. 
In  the  autumn  of  1348,  the  ghastly  enemy  whose  coming 
had  been  foretold  by  the  astrologers  of  Oxenford  and 
heralded  by  portent,  comet,  and  earthquake  showed  him- 
self in  bitter  earnest.  The  small  cloud  that  rose  out  of 
the  sea  on  the  Dorset  coast  spread  and  darkened  till  it 
overshadowed  all  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land. 
And  from  town  and  hamlet,  hall  and  homestead,  went  up 
wails  of  lamentation  or  shrieks  of  terror ;  whilst  all  who 
had  not  strength  or  means  to  flee,  cowered  helplessly  be- 
fore the  approach  of  the  Black  Death. 

The  walls  of  castle  or  abbey  were  not  always  safe  fence 
against  the  plague,  though,  like  its  antitype  of  modern 
times,  it  raged  most  pitilessly  in  the  close,  noisome  dwell- 
ings of  the  poor.  On  a  certain  wet  night  in  early  spring, 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  149 

a  minstrel  craved  and  found  shelter  at  Bever.  The 
traveler  brought  with  him  the  taint  of  pestilence ;  he  him- 
self was  a  corpse  before  noon,  and,  ere  the  month  was 
out,  Sir  Simon  Dynevor  was  wifeless  and  childless. 
Childless — for,  brooding  there  alone,  he  knew  that  the 
yearning  and  repentance  of  his  desolate  heart  were  ut- 
terly without  hope.  He  knew  that  that  other  son,  on 
whom  he  might  have  leaned  as  on  a  fair,  strong  pillar 
in  his  sore  trouble,  was  divided  from  him  now  and  foi- 
evermore,  no  less  than  if  the  grave  lay  betwixt  them. 
Yet  his  grief  slew  him  not.  He  was  endowed  with  that 
strange  vitality  which  seems  to  savor  rather  of  curse 
than  blessing,  when  it  attaches  to  those  who  have  little 
cause  to  love  life ;  even  the  plague,  clutching  eagerly  at 
younger  and  healthier  frames,  would  have  naught  to  do 
with  the  gaunt,  sallow  cripple.  The  punishment  of  his 
youth's  misdeeds  was  upon  him ;  yet  he  turned  not  to 
Heaven  in  his  distress,  bearing  his  heavy  cross  doggedly 
and  silently.  But  with  Simon  Dynevor 's  sins  and  sor- 
rows this  chronicle  hath  naught  further  to  do ;  neither 
was  it  till  long  after  that  any  of  these  things  came  to  the 
knowledge  of  Ralph  Brakespeare. 

During  all  this  season  of  panic  and  misery,  when 
churches  stood  empty  for  lack  of  ministrants,  and  church- 
yards were  full  to  overflowing,  the  King — whether  from 
policy  or  recklessness,  it  were  hard  to  say — abated  naught 
of  pomp  or  revelry.  In  the  spring  of  1349  was  founded 
the  famous  Order  that  commemorates  a  world's  wonder. 
For  this  once,  by  the  balance  of  testimony,  did  courtly 
virtue  come  triumphant  out  of  Royal  siege.  Later,  too, 
though  the  pest  had  more  than  decimated  his  land, 
Edward  found  time  and  forces  wherewith  to  chastise  the 
Spaniard's  insolence  in  the  great  sea-battle  off  Sluys, 
where,  after  sore  peril  of  his  own  life  and  his  son's — 
for  John  of  Lancaster  bore  down  but  just  in  time  to  take 


ISO  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

both  from  their  sinking  ship — a  signal  victory  was  won, 
under  the  very  eyes  of  Phillippa  and  the  other  dames, 
who,  from  Winchelsea  heights,  looked  upon  the  deeds 
of  their  kinsfolk,  husbands,  and  lovers. 

Beyond  the  seas,  too,  restless  spirits  were  at  work.  In 
Gascony  and  Guienne  the  truce  was  broken  almost  daily, 
and  John  of  Normandy,  when  he  went  thither  in  person, 
did  naugfit  to  check  the  disorders  on  his  own  side ;  nay, 
he  scrupled  not  to  head  divers  incursions,  taking  fortified 
places  not  a  few  with  the  strong  hand  and  making  others 
underlie  his  challenge.  Also  in  those  troublous  times 
sprung  up  apace,  like  ill  weeds,  hardy  marauders  such  as 
Bacon  and  Croquart,  who  so  throve  on  blood  and  rapine 
as  to  maintain  a  state  equal  to  a  crown-vassal's,  till  it 
became  worth  a  king's  while  to  purchase  their  allegiance. 

The  heart  of  Edward  grew  hot  within  him  when  he 
heard  how  the  English,  from  Bretagne  to  Languedoc, 
were  daily  put  to  despite  and  distress ;  so,  calling  to  him 
the  man  whom,  next  to  his  own  son,  he  loved  and 
trusted,  his  cousin  of  Derby,  late  made  Earl  of  Lancas- 
ter, he  bade  that  wise  captain  go  forth  with  all  speed  to 
be  his  lieutenant  in  Poitou  and  all  the  marches  thereof. 

All  this  while,  Hawkwood  and  his  following  had  abode 
in  garrison  at  Calais,  under  command  of  Sir  John  Beau- 
champ,  then-time  governor  of  the  castle  and  town. 

For  near  two  years,  Ralph  Brakespeare  went  through 
the  weary  round  of  garrison  duty  with  much  cheerfulness 
and  alacrity.  Yet  was  he  not  the  less  rejoiced,  when  one 
day  Hawkwood  bade  him  see  all  prepared  for  departure 
on  the  morrow;  inasmuch  as  he  had  gotten  leave  from 
the  L.ord  Beauchamp  to  march  in  command  of  a  reinforce- 
ment, destined  to  join  the  English  armament  in  Poitou. 
The  route  was  long ;  but  the  esquire  would  not  have  had 
it  shortened  by  a  single  league.  Throughout  the  country, 
deserted  tenements,  and  fields  left  fallow,  bore  token  of 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  151 

the  fell  pestilence,  which  had  spared  France  no  more  than 
the  rest  of  Europe  in  its  progress  from  east  to  west — 
though  in  Calais,  and  other  coast  towns,  through  which 
the  keen  sea-breezes  swept  freely,  it  had  scarcely  been 
felt.  But  since  the  pest  had  abated  of  its  fury,  the  pale, 
panic-stricken  survivors  had  crept  back  to  their  daily 
labor  or  trade ;  and  all  along  the  road  there  was  no  lack 
of  entertainment. 

Right  pleasant  it  was,  after  being  cooped  up  so  many 
months  betwixt  grey  walls — the  duresse  broken  only  by 
rare  exercise  amongst  bleak  dunes,  or  along  dreary  cause- 
ways— to  ride  on  through  the  fresh  summer  mornings 
and  the  breezy  afternoons,  with  constant  change  of  scen- 
ery, faces,  and  objects  to  vary  each  day's  halt.  Crossing 
the  Somme  at  Abbeville,  they  were  soon  clear  of  the 
marshy  flats  of  Picardy ;  and,  leaving  Arques  on  their 
right,  wound  their  way  through  the  green  coteaux  that 
swell  betwixt  Rouen  and  the  sea.  Albeit  a  truce  pre- 
vailed, Hawkwood  deemed  it  prudent  to  halt  in  hamlets 
and  small  towns  than  in  such  cities  where  the  French  lay 
in  force ;  choosing  not  to  risk,  with  his  small  company, 
being  embroiled  in  such  chance  quarrels  as  will  arise 
when  ancient  foes — newly-made  friends — meet  over  the 
wine-cup.  So  he  turned  not  aside  to  Rouen ;  but  bearing 
still  coastwards,  forded  the  Seine  at  Caudebec ;  and  so — 
by  Lisieux,  Falaise,  Pontorson,  and  Montfort — came  safe, 
towards  the  end  of  July,  to  Aurai,  then  garrisoned  by  Sir 
Thomas  Dagworth,  the  King's  Lieutenant  in  Bretagne. 

Here  they  halted  certain  days  for  needful  refreshments, 
both  for  men  and  horses ;  and  then  set  forward  again 
towards  Bordeaux,  where  Ralph  of  Stafford  held  com- 
mand in  the  room  of  Lancaster,  who  had  returned  to 
England  before  Whitsunday.  Only  by  a  short  week  did 
Hawkwood  and  his  company  miss  sharing  in  a  great  dis- 
aster, unless,  indeed,  their  presence  might  altogether  have 


152  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

averted  it.  For,  scarcely  had  they  reached  Bordeaux, 
when  news  came  that  the  gentle  knight,  who  late  enter- 
tained them  so  royally,  had  been  treacherously  set  upon 
by  Raoul,  Lord  of  Cahors,  under  the  walls  of  Aurai,  and 
done  to  death  with  all  his  following. 

Not  long  after  this,  other  messengers  came,  telling  how 
Philip  of  Valois  had  found  rest  at  last  from  troubles 
and  calamity  in  the  shadow  of  St.  Denis'  altar ;  and  how 
the  fiery  Duke  of  Normandy  reigned  in  his  stead.  Such 
as  were  learned  in  the  politics  of  the  day  foresaw  that 
the  change  would  not  be  greatly  for  the  weal  of  France. 
The  honor  of  John  the  Good  was  as  stainless  as  his 
courage ;  but  his  hand  was  better  fitted  to  grasp  the 
sword  than  the  sceptre  or  leading-staff.  He  would  im- 
peril an  army  not  less  recklessly  than  he  would  risk  his 
own  person,  and  was  over  hot-blooded  and  inconsiderate 
to  cope  with  the  wary  antagonist  that  watched  him  from 
over  the  sea.  Yet,  to  all  men's  wonder,  the  war  smould- 
ered for  a  while ;  only  now  and  then  giving  tokens  of  fire 
lurking  beneath  the  thin  crust,  like  the  jets  and  wreaths 
of  smoke  that  hover  over  the  Terra  di  Lavoro. 

So.  for  Brakespeare  and  his  comrades,  the  old,  weary 
garrison  life  began  again.  For  even  in  the  skirmishes 
and  chance  combats  that  took  place  not  infrequently,  they 
were  destined  to  take  no  share.  They  heard  of  that  tough 
passage-of-arms,  the  memory  of  which  is  still  kept  green 
in  Breton  ballads,  where — despite  Merlin's  prophecy — De 
Beaumanoir  and  his  thirty  did  at  the  last  prevail  over  the 
stark  champions  who  followed  Bembro ;  and  where  Cro- 
quarr,  the  freebooter,  setting  his  back  against  Ploermel 
oak,  bore  himself  so  hardily,  that  to  him,  above  knights 
and  squires  of  high  degree,  was  assigned  that  day's  palm 
of  valor.  They  heard,  too,  how  in  the  country  they  had 
so  lately  left,  notable  exploits  were  wrought — how  the 
disaster  of  the  good  Lord  Beauchamp  had  been  amply 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  153 

avenged  by  Manny,  who  brought  such  plunder  into  Calais 
town  that  a  brave  ox  fetched  but  sixteen  sols  in  the  mar- 
ket-place— and  how  Henry  of  Lancaster  had  pushed  his 
foray  farther  yet  into  the  French  realm,  sacking 
Terouenne,  flooding  the  church  with  the  blood  of  its 
townsmen,  and  carrying  fire  and  sword  up  to  the  gates 
of  Arques  and  St.  Omer — and  how  afterwards,  by  a 
wench's  treachery  and  an  archer's  subtlety,  Guisnes  was 
taken,  and  held  in  despite  of  the  truce.  Later  yet,  they 
heard  how  Sir  Walter  Bentley — left  Lieutenant  of 
Bretagne — had  gotten  great  honor  by  utterly  discomfit- 
ing Guy  de  Nesle,  King  John's  marshal,  who  came  forth 
to  provoke  him  to  battle.  And,  all  this  while,  those  who 
lay  at  Bordeaux  never  drew  sword  in  earnest  or  lay  lance 
in  rest. 

Yet  this  long  enforced  inaction  was,  perhaps,  better 
training  for  Ralph  Brakespeare  than  ceaseless  excitement 
would  have  been.  True,  his  early  luck  seemed  to  have 
deserted  him,  and  he  was  fain,  so  far,  to  rest  on  the  mem- 
ory of  his  first  year  in  arms.  Before  he  was  six-and- 
twenty,  Ralph  had  almost  learned  to  laugh  at  the  day- 
dreams of  five  years  agone.  By  this  time  his  character, 
like  his  frame,  was  set;  to  the  vehement  ambition  and 
ardor  of  youth  had  succeeded  the  cool,  matured  resolution 
of  manhood,  powerful  to  will,  prompt  to  execute,  and 
patient  to  endure.  He  was  proof  against  idle  hopes  no 
less  than  against  groundless  fears,  and  the  common 
chagrins  of  life  took  no  more  hold  of  his  soul  than  toil 
or  privation  of  his  body.  Yet  under  all  this  case-hard- 
ness, like  a  clear  water-drop  in  the  depth  of  crystal,  there 
still  abode  with  him  the  softness  of  heart  that  he  inherited 
from  the  gentle  woman  who  died  in  giving  him  birth. 
When  men,  who  knew  him  best,  gave  Ralph  Brakespeare 
no  more  credit  for  such  emotion  than  if  he  had  been  an 
armed  effigy,  he  was  just  as  ready  to  listen  to  the  cry 


154  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

of  a  helpless  woman,  and  to  avenge  her  wrongs,  as  when 
he  rose  up  in  the  glee-maiden's  defense,  under  the  sign 
of  the  "Spur." 

With  Gian  Malatesta  he  still  remained  on  the  same 
terms  of  cold,  distant  civility.  As  months  and  years 
went  by,  bringing  no  fitting  occasion  for  the  wreaking  of 
his  enmity,  the  Italian  seemed  to  have  forgotten  it  alto- 
gether. In  Bordeaux  town,  where  they  most  often  abode, 
he  found  opportunity  enough  for  indulging  his  tastes. 
Hawkwood  was  not  over-careful  in  detecting  the  misde- 
meanors of  his  followers,  so  long  as  they  interfered  not 
with  duty;  and  on  this  point  Malatesta  was  faultless. 
However  deep  the  debauch  overnight,  the  morning  al- 
ways found  him  alert  and  clear-headed,  ready  to  carry 
out  any  orders  whatsoever  with  his  wary  hardihood. 
Directly  he  was  free,  he  would  betake  himself  straight- 
way to  the  taverns  and  stews  in  which  his  soul  delighted, 
sowing  crowns  broadcast  amongst  ribaudes  and  roister- 
ers. Play  kept  his  gipsire  always  full,  for  at  Bordeaux  he 
encountered  no  such  misadventure  as  had  befallen  him 
at  Calais. 

This  chronicle  does  not  aver  that  whilst  he  tarried  on 
the  banks  of  the  Garonne,  Ralph  Brakespeare  bore  him- 
self always  after  the  fashion  that  would  have  befitted 
Sir  Galahad's  esquire,  or  a  Templar  holding  fast  to  his 
vow.  When  he  confessed  himself — which  at  certain 
seasons  he  failed  not  to  do — he  had,  perhaps,  as  many 
venial  sins  to  avow  as  some  of  his  comrades  who  bore 
themselves  more  noisily  and  jovially ;  but  of  broken  troth, 
or  ruin  of  any  woman's  honor,  he  could  not  accuse  him- 
self. The  blood  of  Gascony  is  hotter  than  its  wine,  and 
the  dark  eyes  of  more  than  one  fair  Bordelaise  had 
looked  approvingly,  perhaps  longingly,  on  the  stalwart 
figure  and  gallant  bearing  of  the  English  esquire,  marvel- 
ing, half-pityingly,  what  should  make  so  young  a  face 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  155 

look  so  grave.  And,  more  than  once,  white  hands  had 
beckoned  stealthily  from  lattices  or  a  flower  had  dropped 
at  his  feet  as  he  passed  by  for  coquetry  was  not  in  its  in- 
fancy even  then,  and  such  simple  devices  prevailed,  be 
sure,  north  as  well  as  south  of  the  Pyrenees.  But  pride 
shrinking  from  the  amour  bourgeois — for  in  this  class 
were  the  temptresses  chiefly  found — rather  than  shyness 
or  coldness,  kept  Ralph's  feet  safe  and  clear  of  the  snares. 
He  was  not  specially  cold,  or  continent,  or  tender  of  con- 
science ;  but  he  chose  to  take  his  pleasure  in  places  where 
he  troubled  no  man's  peace,  and  where  he  could  bring  on 
no  woman  further  dishonor  than  what  she  had  already 
taken  on  herself  of  freewill. 

And  so,  four  years  passed  on  during  which  the  bold 
Duke  of  Lancaster,  waxing  weary,  like  many  another, 
of  the  broils  of  France  and  Navarre,  of  petty  skirmishes 
of  partisans  and  mock  proposals  of  peace,  traveled  east- 
ward to  keep  his  sword  bright  in  war  against  the  infidel. 
How  in  that  adventure  he  miscarried — how  through  prac- 
tise of  the  Duke  of  Brunswick  he  fell  for  awhile  into 
captivity — how,  returning,  he  libeled  the  Duke's  treach- 
ery on  Cologne  cathedral  door — how,  after  interchange 
of  challenge,  these  two  met  in  the  Pre  au.v  Clercs,  and 
were  made  friends  by  the  royal  arbiter  without  issue  of 
battle ; — all  this  is  set  down  in  the  records  of  the  time. 
And,  every  day,  things  were  growing  riper  for  the 
struggle,  final  and  decisive,  betwixt  the  banners,  gules 
and  azure,  whose  semblances  watchmen  on  Southampton 
battlements  saw  bristling  in  the  midnight  sky. 

But,  before  the  armies  were  drawn  out  in  array,  there 
happened  somewhat  which,  in  nowise  affecting  the  for- 
tunes of  nations,  had  much  to  do  with  those  of  Ralph 
Brakespeare. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

HACQUEMONT. 

HE  truce  or  succession  of  truces  was  very  imper- 
fectly observed  along  all  the  seaboard  from 
Artois  to  Beam.  Those  in  Gascony  and 
Guienne  were  not  less  eager  than  their  fellows 
in  the  north  to  infringe  it,  whensoever  and  wheresoever 
they  could  find  fair  excuse  or  chance.  The  turbulent 
spirits  in  those  parts  were  not  likely  to  be  checked  or  al- 
layed by  Ralph  of  Stafford,  who  commanded  then  as 
King  Edward's  captain-general.  The  valiant  earl,  soon 
after  he  landed,  had  been  himself  engaged ;  encountering 
the  enemy  in  force  under  John  de  Clermont,  marshal  of 
France,  and  defeating  them  with  shrewd  loss ;  and  it  was 
well  known  that  he  would  be  more  apt  to  applaud  than 
reprehend  any  act  of  successful  daring,  though  it  involved 
open  breach  of  the  peace. 

In  the  early  spring  of  the  year  of  grace  1355 — the  last 
pretense  of  truce  being  appointed  to  expire  at  the  end 
of  the  May  following — some  threescore  English  got 
privily  under  cover  of  night  into  the  Castle  of  Nantes, 
and  held  it  till  Guy  de  Rochefort,  governor  of  the  town, 
brake  in  by  dint  of  numbers  and  slew  them  to  a  man. 
News  of  this  reverse,  albeit  it  was  not  a  grave  one,  and 
far  removed  beyond  his  own  province,  caused  Stafford 
to  chafe  mightily  and  to  hanker  for  reprisals.  So,  with 
little  delay,  he  sent  forth  Sir  Walter  Breckenridge,  a 
captain  of  approved  valor  and  experience,  at  the  head  of 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  157 

some  six  score  mounted  archers,  with  the  avowed  purpose 
of  exploring  the  country  to  the  north-east  of  the  Garonne 
and  bringing  in  supplies ;  but  with  secret  orders  to  lose 
no  chance  of  damaging  the  adversary,  or  even  of  occupy- 
ing any  fortified  places  that  could  easily  be  surprised. 

With  this  company  rode  forth  Sir  John  Hawkwood 
and  his  following.  For  some  three  days  they  advanced 
steadily  into  the  interior,  till  they  struck  the  southern  bank 
of  the  Dordogne,  a  little  to  the  west  of  Bergerac,  with- 
out having  seen  the  flutter  of  a  French  pennon,  or  lighted 
on  any  fortalice  important  enough,  either  from  size  or 
site,  to  tempt  assault.  Neither,  up  to  this  point,  had 
Breckenridge  cared  to  cumber  himself  with  heavy  plun- 
der ;  choosing  to  defer  the  gathering  of  supplies  until  his 
face  was  turned  seawards  again.  On  the  fourth  day, 
they  halted  some  two  hours  before  sunset  in  a  valley 
not  far  from  Biron ;  and,  the  sun  not  being  fully  set,  sent 
forth  scouts  to  explore  the  country  round,  which,  just 
here,  was  somewhat  hilly  and  thickly  wooded.  These 
returned  ere  it  was  fully  night,  having  seen  no  trace  of 
foe,  and  no  place  more  considerable  than  the  small  strag- 
gling town  of  Biron ;  this,  though  it  might  easily  be  oc- 
cupied, might  hardly  be  held.  But,  scarce  more  than  a 
league  from  the  spot  of  encampment,  they  had  descried  a 
castle,  which  Breckenridge  guessed  at  once  would  be 
well  worth  capture. 

Position,  rather  than  great  size  or  strength,  made 
Hacquemont  valuable.  Occupying  the  entire  plateau  of 
a  steep  eminence,  it  commanded,  not  only  an  extensive 
view  over  the  valley  of  the  Dordogne  and  Corveze,  but 
also  the  road  along  which  the  main  traffic  of  the  country 
passed,  for  the  hills  here  formed  almost  a  defile.  Some 
of  the  scouts  had  crept  up  under  cover  of  the  under- 
wood, almost  within  bowshot  of  the  walls,  and  reported 
that  the  place  seemed  very  scantily  guarded.  Moreover, 


158  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

on  their  way  back,  they  had  laid  hands  on  a  peasant  from 
whom,  doubtless,  fuller  information  might  be  drawn. 
The  prisoner  was  a  sullen-looking  boor,  with  the  heavy 
jaw,  low  brow,  and  small  cunning  eyes,  that  are  found 
near  as  well  as  within  the  borders  of  Auvergne.  So 
soon  as  he  recovered  from  his  first  fright,  he  never  hesi- 
tated betwixt  threat  of  a  halter  and  a  bribe  of  a  few 
silver  coins,  and  told  readily  enough  all  that  he  knew 
of  the  castle  and  its  inhabitants.  Neither  was  this  treach- 
ery unnatural  or  strange ;  there  was  little  love  in  those 
days  betwixt  seigneur  and  villein ;  nay,  the  seeds  were 
sown  long  ago,  that  a  few  years  later  ripened  into  a 
black  crop  of  rapine  and  murder,  when,  for  a  brief  space, 
the  Jacquerie  worked  their  will. 

It  appeared  that  the  Baron  of  Hacquemont  had  in  his 
youth  and  manhood  won  great  renown  in  arms ;  but, 
some  ten  years  back,  in  one  of  the  chance-medleys  pre- 
ceding Cre9y,  had  gotten  a  lance  thrust  in  the  body,  and 
had  been  so  sorely  trampled  by  horse  hoofs,  that  from 
that  day  he  never  could  back  destrier  or  endure  weight  of 
harness.  So,  ever  since,  he  had  tarried  in  his  castle, 
peaceably  enough,  neither  molested  nor  molesting  any ; 
keeping  there  but  feeble  garrison.  Every  retainer  and 
vassal  that  could  possibly  be  spared  he  ever  sent  forth 
to  do  service  in  the  wars,  relying,  somewhat  over-con- 
fidently,  on  the  good  will  of  his  neighbors.  For,  as  the 
clown  averred  with  rather  an  ill  grace,  the  baron  was 
well  esteemed  and  beloved  throughout  the  country-side. 
Indeed,  his  repute  for  piety  and  courtesy  stood  so  high 
that,  albeit  he  had  been  long  a  widower,  certain  noble 
demoiselles  of  Guienne  much  affected  the  society  of  his 
two  unmarried  daughters,  looking  on  Hacquemont  as  a 
safe  and  honorable  asylum,  even  in  such  troublous  times. 

Notwithstanding  this  fair  report,  Breckenridge  felt 
neither  scruple  nor  remorse  in  planning  the  surprise  of 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  159 

Hacquemont :  only  he  gave  strict  charge  to  all  concerned 
therein  to  shed  no  blood  needlessly,  and  to  have  special 
care  of  the  safety  of  the  castellan  and  his  family. 

While  it  was  yet  night,  some  fifty  archers  concealed 
themselves  in  the  brushwood,  which  in  some  places  grew 
nearly  up  to  the  edge  of  the  castle  ditch,  and  waited  their 
opportunity.  Soon  after  dawn,  the  drawbridge  was  low- 
ered, and  an  empty  wain,  drawn  by  two  horses  and  driven 
by  a  peasant,  came  forth.  Scarcely  had  it  cleared  the 
archway  of  the  barbican,  when  from  the  ambush  went  up 
the  cry,  "St.  George  Guienne !"  and  near  a  score  of  the 
fleetest-footed  had  cast  themselves  on  the  drawbridge 
before  the  ancient  warder  recovered  from  his  panic,  or 
could  bestir  himself  to  raise  it.  Ten  minutes  after,  the 
flutter  of  his  own  banner  from  the  battlements  of  the  keep 
told  Breckenridge,  who  with  the  rest  of  his  force  was 
now  near  at  hand,  that  Hacquemont  was  won,  won,  too, 
without  bloodshed,  for  the  scanty  garrison  rendered 
themselves  without  show  of  resistance,  and  the  castellan, 
who  had  not  risen,  was  made  prisoner  almost  in  his 
couch. 

Now  ever  since,  on  the  night  before,  the  enterprise  of 
the  morrow  was  bruited  through  the  English  encampment, 
Ralph  Brakespeare  had  been  unwontedly  pensive  and 
grave.  At  first  he  was  affected  by  a  vague  bewilderment, 
common  to  all  men  who  encounter  some  sight  or  sound 
that  seems  strangely  familiar  to  them,  though  they  may 
not  remember  where  they  have  seen  or  heard  it  before. 

Hacquemont. 

For  a  long  time  Ralph  racked  his  brain,  to  account  to 
himself  for  the  start  and  thrill  that  the  first  mention  of  the 
word  sent  through  his  frame ;  but  gradually  the  lines  of 
a  dim  memory  stood  out  sharp  and  clear,  till  every 
feature  of  the  picture  was  vivid,  as  though  it  had  been 
limned  yestereven. 


:6o  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

The  weary  watch  among  the  sandhills — the  flutter  of 
pennon  over  the  alder-clump — the  glisten  of  broidered 
surcoat  and  gleam  of  gay  armor — the  merry,  musical 
voice  ringing  out  its  war-cry — the  dizzy  crash  of  the 
joust — the  red  westering  sun  lighting  up  the  perfect  face, 
that  even  the  death-pang  could  not  deform — the  last  faint 
whisper  of  the  white  lips — all  these  things  came  back  to 
him ;  and  once  more  his  heart  melted  with  regret  and 
self-reproach  as  it  had  melted  amidst  the  flush  of  his  first 
triumph  when  he  looked  down  on  the  corpse  of  his  foe. 

He  remembered  how,  in  those  days,  he  had  often 
caught  himself  wondering,  what  manner  of  demoiselle 
it  was  who  had  been  honored  by  De  Chastelnaye's  love ; 
whether,  after  the  year  of  mourning  was  expired,  she  had 
been  easily  consoled,  or  if  she  still  lived  a  maid  for  her 
true  knight's  sake.  If  so  it  was,  in  all  likelihood  she  was 
abiding  at  Hacquemont  even  now.  And  he,  Ralph 
Brakespeare,  who  had  dealt  the  first  blow  to  her  hope 
and  happiness  was  brought  here  by  the  chances  of  war 
and  duty  to  trouble  and  vex  her  once  more.  For  months 
and  months  he  had  been  pining  for  chance  of  enterprise. 
Now  that  it  had  come,  he  loathed  it  bitterly,  and  felt  great 
relief  at  hearing  Sir  Walter  Breckenridge's  merciful  or- 
ders, and  at  learning  that  he  himself  would  have  naught 
to  do  with  the  actual  assault. 

Thus  moodily  the  esquire  rode  in  his  place  over  the 
drawbridge  into  the  great  courtyard ;  where,  under  the 
arched  doorway  of  the  keep,  the  Baron  of  Hacquemont 
awaited  his  captors — a  tall  old  man,  wrapped  in  a  furred 
gown,  and  propped  on  a  staff,  with  thin  grey  hair,  and 
traces  of  long  illness  on  his  worn  features ;  bearing  him^ 
self  neither  timidly  nor  defiantly,  but  rather  with  the  quiet 
confidence  of  one  loath  to  suspect  in  others  the  dis- 
courtesy to  which  he  had  never  abased  himself. 

Sir  Walter   Breckenridge  was  not  a  whit   softer  of 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  161 

mood,  or  more  scrupulous,  than  his  brothers  m-arms :  yet 
he  felt  strangely  ashamed  of  his  exploit — almost  inclined 
to  excuse  it — as  he  leapt  from  saddle,  and  approached 
the  castellan,  bowing  his  head  in  salute. 

"I  grieve  much,  fair  lord" — he  said — "that  my  duty 
and  mine  orders  have  enforced  me  thus  to  trouble  your 
peace,  and  invade  your  dwelling.  But  apprehend  not,  I 
pray  you,  violence  or  rough  usage.  We  are  not  base 
marauders,  like  Bacon  and  his  fellows,  and  affect  no 
booty  save  what  is  fairly  ours  by  the  laws  of  war.  It  is 
needful  that  I  hold  this,  your  castle,  for  a  certain  space ; 
yet  this  shall  be  done  with  no  great  damage  to  your 
goods,  and  with  as  little  constraint  of  person  as  may  be. 
Also,  shall  ye  be  put  to  speedy  ransom  on  no  hard  terms ; 
and  thereto  I,  Walter  Breckenridge,  pledge  my  faith." 

"I  am  beholden  to  you,  gentle  knight" — the  castellan 
answered.  "Also  in  evil  fortune  do  I  esteem  myself 
fortunate  to  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  so  worthy  a 
captain ;  for,  credit  me,  your  renown  has  reached  even 
these  remote  parts — so  remote,  i'faith,  that  I  foolishly  held 
them  safe  from  your  forayers.  There  is  little  enough 
to  tempt  them,  God  wot,  for  our  country  breeds  few  cat- 
tle, and  the  hands  that  should  have  tilled  the  cornlands 
are  busy  far  away  with  spear  and  crossbow.  Nathless, 
our  ransom  shall  be  paid,  an'  we  melt  down  the  last  of  our 
silver  hanaps.  I  am  the  gladder  to  deal  with  one  of  your 
courtesy  and  breeding  because  there  are  now  abiding 
with  mine  own  children  the  Demoiselles  De  Brissac — 
daughters  of  the  Vicompte  Geoffrey,  my  good  friend,  and 
sometime  companion-in-arms.  They  know  naught  as  yet 
who  are  their  captors ;  and  I  warrant  there  is  sore  flutter 
in  their  dovecot  yonder." 

Following  upward  the  other's  glance,  Breckenridge 
saw  at  a  window  on  the  second  story  of  the  keep,  three 
girlish  faces — differing  in  type,  but  all  fair  specimens  of 


162  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

fresh  southern  beauty — looking  down  in  evident  terror  on 
the  courtyard,  now  well-nigh  full  of  armed  men.  From 
a  narrower  casement,  rather  to  the  left,  another  face 
showed  itself  alone,  a  face  of  rare  and  royal  loveliness 
even  now,  though  brilliancy  of  color  had  faded  into  ivory 
whiteness,  and  the  proud  dark  eyes  looked  somewhat 
weary  as  though  from  long  watching  or  weeping.  In 
those  eyes  there  was  neither  curiosity  nor  fear ;  and  the 
lady  gazed  down  on  the  turmoil  beneath,  seemingly  with 
no  more  disquietude  than,  in  other  times,  she  might  have 
watched  the  tilting  where  blunted  lances  were  shivered  in 
her  honor.  The  Englishman  could  not  forbear  a  smile; 
but  he  bent  his  head  once  more  in  lowlier  courtesy. 

"Hasten,  I  pray  yon,  to  assure  those  fair  and  noble 
demoiselles  that  no  harm  is  intended  them  beyond  brief 
duresse  in  their  own  chambers.  I  will  take  counsel  with 
yonder  good  knight,  who  rides  with  me,  and  be  with  you 
in  your  presence-chamber  above  anon." 

With  these  words  Breckenridge  beckoned  to  Sir  John 
Hawkwood,  who  dismounted  at  once,  and  the  two  con- 
ferred apart. 

Now  Ralph  Brakespeare,  sitting  in  saddle  there,  and 
hearing  all  that  was  spoken,  had  glanced  upwards  with 
the  rest.  His  eye,  after  sweeping  carelessly  over  the 
bright  beauty  that  filled  one  casement,  lighted  on  the  sad 
pale  face  framed  in  the  other,  and  dwelt  there  as  though 
fascinated.  One  of  the  quick  instincts  that  never  lie  told 
him  that  he  looked  upon  her  to  whom,  unwittingly,  he  had 
done  such  mortal  harm,  the  Marguerite,  whose  name  was 
on  Loys  de  Chastelnaye's  lips  as  he  fought  and  as  he  died 
— told  him,  moreover,  that  the  girl  was  worthy  of  her 
knight's  homage,  inasmuch  as  she  had  chosen,  for  his  dear 
sake,  to  live  on  alone  with  her  sorrow. 

Ralph  shrank  within  himself,  as  he  thought  of  the 
horror  that  would  surely  break  the  calm  of  those  solemn 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  163 

eyes,  if  the  lady  could  guess  that  she  was  there  set  face 
to  face  with  the  man  on  whose  hand  was  her  lover's  blood, 
albeit  it  was  shed  in  loyal  combat :  that  same  excuse  never 
yet  healed  grief,  though  it  has  saved  many  a  feud. 

Whilst  the  esquire  mused  thus  discontentedly,  said 
Breckenridge  to  Hawkwood: 

"Good  Sir  John,  I  have  ever  heard  thee  reputed  cool 
and  wary  of  wit ;  also  I  know  that  thou  art  well  esteemed 
by  my  lord  of  Stafford,  wherefore  I  would  hear  your 
counsel,  that  I  may  see  if  it  march  with  mine  own.  Lo, 
thus  it  stands  with  us.  By  happy  adventure,  and  without 
loss  of  one  life,  we  have  gotten  into  a  fair  castle,  and  one 
that,  meseems,  with  no  great  garrison,  may  easily  be  held. 
Yet  may  I  not  tarry  here.  There  may  be  fortalices  more 
vantageous  within  our  swoop,  and  Earl  Ralph,  in  his 
present  mood,  is  hard  to  please.  This  am  I  minded  to  do : 
leaving  here  some  scanty  force,  we  will  push  forward  yet 
a  dozen  leagues  to  the  eastward.  Then,  if  we  shall  find 
naught  worthier  of  occupance,  we  will  fall  back  on 
Hacquemont,  and  strengthen  its  garrison ;  if  otherwise, 
the  spears  left  here  can  easily  join  us  as  we  pass  by  home- 
ward. More  than  a  score  I  cannot  spare,  for  I  fear  no 
treachery  from  within,  after  the  old  lord  hath  given  pa- 
role ;  furthermore,  none,  save  our  men,  shall  be  allowed 
to  keep  their  arms.  Likest  my  plan,  or  can'st  find  me 
better?" 

"By  the  mass,  very  hardly,"  the  other  answered.  "It 
is  both  boldly  and  prudently  devised.  Doubtless,  a  score 
— well  chosen — might  easily  hold  the  place  against  ten- 
fold their  number,  till  we  of  the  main  body  brought  them 
help,  for  we  shall  scarce  be  beyond  a  long  day's  ride,  and 
signal  from  yon  keep  might  be  seen  from  afar." 

"Well  "chosen" — the  other  returned — "truly,  there  is 
much  in  that.  Now,  Sir  John,  I  were  loath  to  lose  your 
own  company,  so  I  pray  you  to  set  forward  with  me ;  but 


164  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

there  are  none  of  my  spears  to  whom  I  would  so  readily 
commit  this  charge  as  those  who  have  of  late  served  under 
your  own  immediate  training.  They  number,  methinks, 
something  under  the  score  we  named.  Will  it  please  you 
to  leave  them  here  under  command  of  your  esquire  yon- 
der? Than  him,  though  he  looks  somewhat  dreamily 
to-day,  I  wot  we  have  no  starker  man-at-arms." 

"Your  pleasure  is  mine,"  the  other  replied,  in  his  curt, 
decisive  way.  "I  will  give  instant  orders  to  that  effect." 

So  the  two  parted ;  Breckenridge  going  straight  to  the 
presence-chamber  on  the  first  floor  of  the  keep,  where  the 
old  castellan  awaited  him. 

"Fair  lord,"  the  Englishman  said,  "it  is  my  desire  to 
put  no  more  than  needful  constraint  on  yourself  or  your 
household  while  I  perform  my  own  duty.  I  purpose  to 
leave  here  a  certain  number  of  my  spears  till  I  pass  by 
again,  which  I  trust  will  be  on  the  fourth  day  at  furthest. 
Till  then,  you  shall  pledge  me  your  knightly  word  to  coun- 
tenance no  attempt  at  recoverance  from  within,  and  allow 
none,  either  by  signal  or  otherwise,  to  solicit  rescue  from 
without.  Also,  your  said  retainers  shall  abide  unarmed 
within  their  lodging;  whilst  you,  and  the  noble  demoi- 
selles, inhabit  your  own  chambers  in  the  upper  part  of 
this  same  keep.  There  is  no  inlet  or  outlet — so  I  opine — 
save  through  the  door  at  yon  stairhead,  and  of  that  ye  may 
hold  the  key ;  and  ye  shall  have  tendance  from  your  hand- 
maidens, and  any  two  of  your  servitors  it  may  please  you 
to  choose.  I,  on  my  part,  will  engage — if,  on  my  return 
hither,  I  am  minded  to  hold  this  castle — to  see  you  con- 
voyed to  some  near  place  of  safety  in  French  hand,  or 
I  will  leave  you  at  peace  again  here.  And,  whichever 
befall,  if  your  ransoms  are  not  paid  down  instantly,  I  will 
accept  your  parole  for  their  discharge.  Have  I  said  well  ?" 

A  gleam  of  pleasure  lighted  up  the  baron's  worn  face. 

"Right  well  and  mercifully" — he  answered.  "To  all  that 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  165 

your  knighthood  has  required  I  will  cheerfully  pledge 
myself ;  and,  should  any  vassal  of  mine  practice  treachery, 
he  shall  swing  on  yonder  justice-oak  so  soon  as  I  can  deal 
with  mine  own  again.  And,  gentle  sir,  you  should  not 
lack  my  daughters'  thanks  besides  mine  own :  but  the 
younger  is  still  something  bewildered  with  her  fright ;  and 
the  elder,  since  she  donned  mourning  for  her  betrothed, 
will  come  into  no  stranger's  company." 

So,  with  many  courteous  words  and  the  emptying  a  cup 
of  Gascon  wine,  the  two  parted  in  great  amity ;  and,  after 
man  and  horse  had  been  moderately  refreshed,  and  orders 
given  for  the  safe  custody  of  the  prisoners,  Breckenridge's 
trumpets  sounded  the  route ;  and  the  narrow  line  of  spears 
wound  down  the  hillside,  passing  eastward  through  the 
defile. 


w 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
GIAN  MALATESTA'S  COUNSEL. 

HILST  Hawkwood  was  disposing  all  things  for 
the  garrisoning  of  Hacquemont,  he  was  not 
without  certain  doubts  and  misgivings  as  to 
whether  it  were  not  wiser  to  carry  Gian  Mala- 
testa  away  than  to  leave  him  there  with  the  rest.  He 
liked  the  man  not  a  whit  better  than  he  did  when  they 
marched  out  of  Calais,  but  since  that  time  the  Italian  had 
given  no  overt  cause  for  complaint ;  neither  had  he  by 
look,  word,  or  sign  betrayed  the  faintest  enmity  to  Ralph 
Brakespeare ;  so  there  was  no  real  reason  why  the  two 
might  not  safely  abide  together  for  so  short  a  space. 
Also,  Sir  John  knew  that  the  Italian's  rare  expertness 
in  the  use  of  warlike  engines,  whereof  several  of  rather 
antique  make  were  ranged  on  the  battlements,  could  ill 
be  spared  in  case  of  assault.  Moreover,  it  was  probable 
that  the  sombre,  jealous  nature  of  the  man  might  take 
umbrage  if  he  found  himself  singled  out  from  his  com- 
rades as  unfitted  to  be  trusted  beyond  their  commander's 
sight.  Besides  all  this,  Hawkwood  had  conceived  great 
respect,  not  only  for  Brakespeare's  thews  and  sinews,  but 
also  for  his  coolness  and  nerve ;  so  that  he  could  scarce 
believe  in  the  esquire's  coming  to  harm  in  any  ordinary 
peril. 

Had  the  knight  wist  of  the  truth,  he  would  have  stiuck 
off  Malatesta's  head  with  his  own  hand  rather  than  have 
left  him  at  Hacquemont.  But,  with  all  his  sagacity,  he 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  167 

never  guessed  how,  during  all  those  long  months  of  in- 
action, a  foul  leaven  had  been  fermenting  in  his  little 
band  till  scarce  a  savor  was  left  of  the  old  loyal  grain. 
He  never  guessed  how  that  subtle  traitor  had  lost  no 
chance  of  embittering  irritation  into  dislike  and  weariness 
into  discontent,  inflaming,  either  by  taunt  or  temptation, 
the  evil  passions  of  each  in  that  motley  company  whereof 
scarce  half  were  English-born,  till,  without  any  concerted 
plan,  nearly  the  whole  were  ripe  for  mutiny.  At  first, 
probably  Gian  Malatesta  began  to  work  without  any 
definite  purpose,  out  of  the  pure  malignity  that  makes 
devils  impatient  of  idleness  ;  but  for  some  time  past,  seeing 
how  the  materials  molded  themselves  to  his  will,  he  had 
been  looking  out  for  a  chance  of  turning  them  to  account. 
Never  once,  throughout  all  his  plotting  and  scheming, 
had  he  lost  sight  of  Brakespeare.  Despite  all  his  cun- 
ning, there  was  so  much  of  the  simple  savage  in  the 
polished  desperado,  that  he  would  scarce  have  cared  to 
build  up  the  edifice  of  his  own  fortune,  unless  its  first 
stone  were  red-wet  with  the  blood  of  his  enemy.  Over 
such  a  garrison  was  Ralph  set  in  charge  on  the  first 
occasion  of  his  holding  single  command. 

Without  the  faintest  suspicion  of  the  peril  that  en- 
compassed him,  the  esquire  was  graver  and  more  thought- 
ful than  his  wont  that  morning.  The  new  sense  of  re- 
sponsibility might  sufficiently  account  for  this ;  and,  as 
he  stood  on  the  eastern  battlements  watching  the  hind- 
most of  the  column  disappear,  he  repeated  Hawkwood's 
concise  orders  over  and  over  to  himself  till  he  felt  sure  of 
not  forgetting  one  word.  Then,  with  the  different  keys 
of  the  castle  at  his  belt,  he  visited  each  lock  separately, 
seeing  that  all  was  fast — more  especially  that  of  a  low 
building  running  round  one  side  of  the  outer  bailey  in 
which  the  late  garrison  were  confined  after  their  disarm- 
ing. In  this  round  he  was  accompanied  by  Lanyon,  who 


168  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

for  some  time  past  had  been  specially  attached  to  his 
person,  much  in  the  capacity  of  a  batman  of  modern  days. 
When  the  inspection  was  done,  and  the  guards  properly 
set,  it  was  full  time  for  the  mid-day  meal,  which  was 
prepared  in  the  large  lower  chamber  of  the  keep ;  but  to 
this  the  esquire  felt  in  no  ways  inclined  to  do  justice.  Sit- 
ting down  in  his  place,  he  ate  a  few  morsels  and  drank 
one  cup  of  wine,  and  then  went  forth  to  walk  alone  on  the 
battlements,  never  noticing  certain  dark  looks,  and  sullen 
glances,  leveled  at  him  as  he  went,  chiefly  from  the  upper 
end  of  the  board. 

"See'st  thou  that?"  grumbled  Martin  Stackpole  to  his 
neighbor,  Berchtold  of  Boppart.  "His  worship  can  di- 
gest no  meat  eaten  in  our  company.  I  would  the  Fiend 
had  the  filling  of  his  proud  stomach.  Perchance,  to-mor- 
row we  shall  hear  him  taking  a  lesson  on  the  lute  in  the 
bower  of  those  bonny  birds  at  whom  I  marked  thee  casting 
kites'  eyes  from  thy  saddle  but  now." 

The  beetle-browed  giant  slacked  not  the  play  of  his 
jaws,  but  growled  out,  betwixt  two  huge  mouthfuls  some- 
what that  might  be  either  assent  or  curse. 

Ralph  had  certainly  intended  no  slight  to  his  subalterns 
when  he  quitted  them  thus  abruptly ;  but  perchance  there 
was  more  truth  in  Stackpole's  remark  than  the  esquire 
would  have  cared  to  own.  The  instincts  of  his  birth  and 
breeding,  repressed  by  circumstances  and  association, 
would  assert  themselves  at  times,  with  or  without  reason. 
Just  now  the  strident  voices,  the  coarse  mirth,  and  loud 
blasphemies  of  the  brutal  routiers,  were  unutterably  dis- 
tasteful, and  the  pure,  keen  air  refreshed  him  more  than 
the  wine  he  had  drunk.  So  he  paced  to  and  fro,  thinking 
— if  the  truth  must  be  told — always  of  Marguerite  de 
Hacquemont.  Yet  he  thought  of  her  neither  with  desire 
of  her  beauty,  nor  with  the  slightest  hope  of  winning  her 
favor;  but  only  with  a  longing  to  cast  himself  at  her 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  169 

feet  till  he  should  obtain  forgiveness  for  the  great  sor- 
row he  had  brought  upon  her,  even  as  he  would  have 
craved  absolution  of  a  priest  for  some  grave,  unshriven 
sin.  It  was  the  very  first  touch  of  pure  romance  in  Ralph 
Brakespeare's  life  and  the  very  last  that  marked  it  for 
many  a  day. 

He  pursued  his  solitary  walk  till  the  sun  was  getting 
low;  then  he  turned  into  the  keep  again — hearing,  but 
not  heeding,  voices  within  the  closed  doors  of  the  hall — 
and  mounted  into  the  presence-chamber,  where  he  found 
Lanyon  busily  engaged  in  polishing  such  heavier  pieces  of 
armor  as  the  esquire  had  chosen  to  lay  aside. 

After  the  interchange  of  a  very  few  words,  Ralph  sat 
down  in  the  embrasure  of  a  window  looking  over  the  val- 
ley of  the  Dordogne,  and  fell  a-musing  once  more.  His 
reverie  was  broken  by  a  voice  speaking  close  to  his 
shoulder. 

"A  fair  prospect,  sir  esquire" — the  Lord  of  Hacque- 
mont  said.  "I,  at  least,  have  never  wearied  thereof  though 
I  have  looked  on  it  nigh  threescore  years ;  and  Alix,  my 
dame,  loved  it  well,  and  sat  often  there  till  her  last  sickness 
waxed  sore.  That  parting*  was  our  first  real  sorrow  ;  and 
since  then,  naught  has  gone  aright  here.  Better  had  it 
been  for  me  to  have  died  with  younger  men  at  Cregy  than 
in  a  chance  mellay  to  have  come  by  such  a  hurt  as  hath 
turned  me  into  a  heavy  burden,  instead  of  a  prop  and  de- 
fense to  mine  house.  And  better  had  it  been  for  Marguer- 
ite, my  firstborn,  to  have  offered  her  virginity  to  God  at 
St.  Ursula's  altar,  than  have  plighted  her  faith  to  the 
Vicompte  de  Chastelnaye ;  albeit  my  heart  was  proud 
enough  the  day  I  blessed  their  betrothal.  For  knight 
more  perfect  never  rode  out  of  Limousin ;  and  many  no- 
table exploits  he  wrought  before  he  came  to  mischance. 
From  a  mere  youth  and  ordinary  man-at-arms — so  his 
esquire  averred — gat  he  his  death-wound ;  but  this  have  I 


i;o  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

never  wholly  credited ;  no  common  lance,  I  warrant  it, 
would  have  held  his  own  against  poor  Loys  in  fair  career. 
But  I  know  not  why  I  trouble  you  with  such  matters ; 
rather  should  I  inquire  if  ye  have  found  sufficient  for-<: 
your  needs  below  ?  There  is  no  lack  of  wine  in  the  cellars, 
and  old  Rene  tells  me  the  larder  is  indifferently  well 
stored." 

Brakespeare  had  doffed  his  barret-cap  on  rising,  and 
stood  before  the  speaker  as  he  would  have  stood  in  pres- 
ence of  his  King.  Only  with  an  effort  he  constrained 
himself  to  answer  calmly,  for  the  castellan's  last  words 
chimed  in  unhappily  with  his  own  musings. 

"I  thank  your  good  lordship ;  there  is  abundance  of  all 
things,  and  to  spare.  Rather  doth  it  befit  me  to  ask,  if  you 
and  those  noble  demoiselles  lack  aught  that  within  the 
bounds  of  my  duty  may  be  supplied?  Well  I  trust  that 
your  confinement  will  be  brief ;  and  that  on  the  fourth  day, 
at  latest,  ye  will  be  lightened  of  our  burdensome  presence. 
'Twill  go  hard,  but  Sir  Walter  Breckenridge  will  find 
some  fortalice  easier  to  hold  than  Hacquemont — fair  cas- 
tle though  it  be." 

The  castellan  smiled  gravery. 

"We  are  right  well  ministered  to  by  Rene,  mine  ancient 
esquire,  and  Gilles,  my  servitor,  who,  though  scarce  less 
infirm  than  mine  own  self,  are  apt  enough  at  such  duty. 
Nay,  gentle  sir,  I  must  not  have  you  underrate  my  poor 
dwelling.  There  are  stronger  fortresses,  pardie:  yet, 
duly  victualed  and  garrisoned,  it  might  withstand  a  tough 
siege,  even  of  these  new-fangled  bombards.  'Tis  a  quaint 
old  house,  too,  full  of  quips  and  cranks  in  builders'  work. 
See,  now,  I  will  show  you  one  device:  it  was  contrived, 
doubtless,  by  some  austere  ancestor  of  mine,  wishful  to 
check  his  retainers'  mirth  if  it  waxed  too  wild  below." 

Speaking  thus,  the  baron  pressed  the  point  of  his  staff 
on  the  corner  of  a  large  square  stone  in  the  centre  of  the 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  171 

presence-chamber,  till  half  its  breadth  stood  up  above  the 
floor,  revealing  an  aperture  wide  enough  to  admit  a  broad 
pair  of  shoulders. 

"Stoop  down" — the  castellan  said,  lowering  his  tone. 
"  'Tis  somewhat  dark  now  in  the  hall  below,  so  you  will 
see  but  dimly.  But,  if  any  be  talking  there,  you  will  hear 
each  whisper,  not  less  distinctly  than  if  you  stood  by  the 
speaker's  shoulder." 

More  out  of  courtesy  than  curiosity,  the  esquire  did  as 
he  was  bidden.  But,  before  his  face  had  been  bent  down 
three  seconds,  it  grew  rigid  and  stern ;  with  a  backward 
gesture  of  his  hand  to  enforce  silence,  he  began  to  listen 
eagerly.  This  is  what  he  heard. 

"Thy  counsel  savors  of  the  laggard,  if  not  of  the  craven, 
Martin  Stackpole ;  nay,  pluck  not  at  thy  dagger-hilt — I 
am  not  so  easily  frighted  as  the  fat  vintner  of  Bordeaux — 
but  listen.  Wherefore  should  we  delay  till  midnight  what 
may  as  well  be  done  four  hours  sooner ;  and  when  we  can 
work  our  pleasure  with  the  strong  hand,  what  cause  is 
there  to  dally?  If  thou  fearest  to  trust  thy  carcase  within 
sword's  length  of  Ralph  Brakespeare  awake,  knowest 
thou  when  to  find  him  sleeping  on  this,  his  first  night  of 
command  ?  And  to  satisfy  thy  prudence,  shall  we  sit  with 
our  hands  folded  through  the  long  night-watch  with  such 
plunder  and  Hesse  near?" 

The  soft,  musical  accents  contrasted  strangely  with  the 
voice  that  broke  in,  deep  and  hoarse  as  the  distant  bellow 
of  a  chafed  bull. 

"By  the  beards  of  the  Three  Kings,  thou  hast  right, 
Johann.  'Sweetest  bread  is  quickest  baked/  saith  our 
proverb :  I  am  for  setting  about  this  gear  instantly.  Hagel, 
I  am  waxing  meek  as  a  novice  for  want  of  a  real  wild 
bout.  And  wine  and  woman's  lips  have  never  so  keen  a 
relish  as  when  men  taste  them  after  blood." 

"Spoken  like  Ser  Petronius,  of  unsaintly  memory" — 


172  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

Malatesta  answered.  "Nevertheless,  be  not  over  hasty, 
my  Rhineland  Goliath.  Bethink  thee,  that  after  we  have 
dealt  with  the  esquire  and  other  one  or  two  English  mas- 
tiffs, there  will  be  a  door,  mayhap  a  strong  one,  to  pass 
ere  we  come  at  the  girls  and  the  gold ;  and  oak  and  iron 
are  not  as  parchment  and  glass,  even  though  arms  puissant 
as  thine  wield  lever  like  a  weaver's  beam.  If  those  above 
have  time  to  hang  out  signal  of  distress  from  the  keep, 
and  there  be  daylight  for  the  country  folk  to  see  it,  rescue 
may  arise  from  one  quarter  or  another,  and  each  man  may 
be  called  to  the  walls  ere  dawn.  Thou  would'st  not  have 
our  first  free  orgie  troubled,  I  trow.  Moreover,  all  our 
fellows  are  not  so  ripe  as  thee  and  me  and  honest  Martin 
here ;  and  they  will  work  the  best  when  their  veins  are 
fullest.  Trust  me,  they  shall  not  lack  the  spur  if  that 
same  can  be  found  in  right  Gascon  wine.  After  supper, 
when  they  have  well  drunken,  I  will  expound  unto  them 
our  plan  after  my  poor  fashion,  and  we  will  to  business 
instantly.  Till  then,  let  each  go  his  own  way  soberly  ;  it  is 
not  needful  that  we  three  be  seen  together." 

"He  speaks  well,  Berchtold" — another  voice  said.  "We 
had  best  be  guided  by  him  ;  he  hath  twice  our  brains." 

So  the  converse  was  broken  off ;  and  in  a  few  seconds 
more  the  hall  was  empty. 

Ralph  Brakespeare  rose  to  his  feet,  with  a  face  per- 
fectly calm,  but  very  set  and  pale  like  that  of  one  who  has 
inhaled  some  noxious  vapor.  Taking  no  note  of  Lanyon, 
who  approached  with  open  mouth  and  eyes,  he  drew  the 
castellan  somewhat  apart,  and  told  him  briefly  of  the  plot 
hatching  below. 

Philippe  de  Hacquemont's  courage  had  ever  been  un- 
questioned, and  in  contempt  of  peril,  whilst  he  was  able 
to  encounter  it,  he  was  surpassed  by  none  of  his  peers; 
yet  he  shook  as  in  an  ague  fit  as  he  listened. 

"My  poor  girls" — he  groaned  at  last.     "Is  there  no 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  173 

mercy  then  in  heaven  for  creatures  as  pure  as  its  own 
saints  ?  I  vow  to  Saint  Ursula " 

"Your  pardon,  my  lord" — Ralph  interrupted,  plucking 
him  by  the  sleeve.  "We  have  scant  time  for  counsel  but 
time  enow  for  prayers.  Ye  spake  anon  of  the  builder's 
tricks  in  this  castle.  Know  ye  of  any  whereby  man,  or 
better,  man  and  horse,  might  issue  unmarked  by  any 
within  till  they  were  fairly  beyond  the  ditch?" 

All  the  martial  instincts  of  the  castellan's  nature  came 
back  at  the  direct  question ;  he  drew  himself  together  like 
an  ancient  war-horse  at  sound  of  trumpet. 

"Of  a  surety  there  is  such" — he  said.  "In  the  third 
stall  of  the  great  stable,  counting  from  the  right,  there 
is  a  secret  panel,  behind  which  lies  a  souterrain,  leading 
under  the  castle  ditch  and  opening  at  a  postern  hid  in  the 
thickest  brushwood,  half  way  down  the  slope,  through 
which  a  destrier  fully  caparisoned  may  pass.  Rene,  alone, 
of  all  mine  household,  knows  the  trick  of  the  spring ;  and, 
by  God's  mercy,  he  is  in  attendance-  here." 

"It  is,  indeed,  a  blessed  chance" — Ralph  answered,  al- 
most reverently.  Then  he  beckoned  Lanyon  to  his  side. 

"Hark  thee  hither,  Will ;  and  strive  to  comprehend  what 
thou  hearest  for  I  may  expound  naught  at  length.  We 
are  in  shrewd  strait.  Yon  Italian  devil  hath  tampered 
with  our  band  till,  of  all  I  thought  true  men  the  morning, 
]  can  surely  reckon  on  none  save  thee.  It  is  their  purpose 
this  night  to  break  in  here,  to  plunder,  and  ravish,  and 
slay.  There  is  a  secret  issue  from  the  castle ;  but  the 
noble  demoiselles  I  dare  not  send  forth,  even  under  dark- 
ness, lest  some  loiterer,  espying  them  pass  through  the 
court-yard,  should  give  the  alarm,  and  so  we  and  they  be 
set  upon  at  a  vantage  below.  While  the  .door  stands  yon- 
der they  are  safe ;  and,  whilst  I  live,  none  shall  lay  hands 
thereon.  The  stair  is  narrow,  so  that  two  mounting 
abreast,  can  scarce  wield  their  weapons;  and  a  strong 


174  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

man,  fully  armed,  might  hold  the  platform  for  a  good 
while  against  a  score.  This  have  I  devised.  The  guards 
will  soon  be  changed.  Thou  wilt  be  posted  on  the  north 
battlements  to  which  there  is  access  close  to  the  main 
stable.  After  seven  of  the  clock,  when  the  rest  are  set 
down  to  supper,  Rene — this  good  lord's  esquire — will 
come  to  thee  wearing  my  barret-cap  and  mantle.  He  is 
great  of  stature,  and  the  masking  may  pass  in  the  un- 
certain light.  He  will  unlock  the  stable,  and  show  thee 
the  outlet.  I  mind  not  what  beast  stands  in  a  certain  stall 
— God  send  he  be  strong  and  speedy,  for  he  may  not  be 
changed  now  without  suspicion,  nor  then  without  noise 
which  thou  must  needs  avoid.  When  thou  hast  gained 
the  eastward  road,  ride — I  say  not  as  for  thy  life,  but  as 
to  save  thy  soul — till  thou  come  to  where  Sir  John  Hawk- 
wood  is  camped.  Tell  him  how  we  are  be-stead.  The 
road  thou  canst  not  miss,  for  with  such  a  moon  as  will 
be  shining  then,  a  boy  might  track  four  hundred  hoof- 
prints.  Under  God's  mercy,  I  have  good  hope  thou  wilt 
bring  us  aid  in  time.  But  if  otherwise " 

He  crossed  himself,  lifting  his  barret-cap  from  his 
brow — 

"Then  may  He  assoilzie  us  all  this  night,  both  inno- 
cents and  sinners.  What  ails  thee,  man?"  he  went  on, 
angrily.  "Have  thy  fool's  wits  gone  wool-gathering  that 
thou  starest  on  me  with  such  lack-lustre  eyes?" 

The  archer's  face,  indeed,  was  a  picture  of  sullen  be- 
wilderment. 

"Fool,  indeed,"  he  said,  huskily,  clutching  his  brawny 
throat  as  though  something  choked  him.  "Ay !  and  I  de- 
serve harder  names  than  that,  messire,  for  following  faith- 
fully all  these  years  one  who  sends  me  forth  with  a  whole 
skin  whilst  he  tarries  behind  to  die.  For  naught  can  save 
ye  but  a  miracle,  I  wot;  and  such  are  not  wrought  for 
landless  esquires." 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  175 

Instead  of  being  touched  by  his  follower's  devotion, 
Ralph's  face  darkened  menacingly. 

"I  was  wrong,  then,  it  seems,  in  reckoning  on  thee? 
It  is  well.  Then  Rene  shall  bear  my  message,  though  he 
seems  scarce  able  for  the  saddle.  But,  hearken,  when 
the  fray  begins,  shift  for  thyself  as  thou  wilt ;  by  the 
most  Holy  Rood,  thou  standest  not  with  me.  I  had  as 
lieve  have  traitor  at  my  back  as  mutineer." 

He  stopped  suddenly,  his  whole  manner  changing. 

"Nay,  nay,  I  was  over  hasty.  Thine  is  but  a  passing 
humor-fit,  and  now  thou  art  mine  own  honest  comrade 
and  king's  true  soldier  again.  Vex  thyself  no  further" 
— the  archer  had  cast  himself  on  his  knees,  burying  his 
face  in  the  hand  that  Brakespeare  resigned  to  him  for 
awhile, — "but  do  my  bidding  heedfully.  Should  evil 
befall  us  here,  commend  me  to  Sir  John  Hawkwood ;  and 
tell  him  that,  being  in  sore  perplexity,  I  acted,  according 
to  my  poor  judgment,  as  beseemed  his  honor  and  mine 
own ;  and  that  well  I  trust  he  will  never  rest  till  each  drop 
of  our  blood  be  avenged.  Now  stand  thou  apart:  thou 
goest  forth  with  me  anon  when  I  place  the  guard." 

Then  Ralph  turned  to  the  castellan,  who  stood  by,  for- 
getting his  own  grievous  anxieties,  in  genuine  admiration 
of  the  marvelous  coolness  with  which  the  other  met  and 
mastered  the  situation  that  had  well-nigh  paralyzed  his 
own  energies. 

"Fair  lord" — he  said — "if  I  have  not  spoken  of  bidding 
your  own  retainers  fight  in  your  defense,  it  is  not  that  I 
mistrust  their  faith  or  courage.  But  for  the  most  part 
they  are  somewhat  aged  and  war-worn ;  so,  in  the  front 
of  such  as  we  must  mell  with  to-night,  they  would  be  as 
straw  before  flame.  Moreover,  weapons  and  harness 
could  hardly  be  conveyed  to  them  without  giving  the 
alarm,  and  if  half-armed,  they  must  needs  be  slaughtered 
like  sheep  in  the  shambles.  And  now  it  is  full  time  we 


176  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

went  about  our  several  tasks  ;  and  yours — as  well  I  wot — 
is  far  heavier  than  mine.  It  beseems  not  one  of  my  years 
to  give  counsel  to  your  wisdom,  yet  one  word  I  must  needs 
say.  For  the  Holy  Virgin's  sake,  do  nothing  rashly.  All 
is  not  lost  when  I  am  down ;  and,  when  ye  least  expect 
it,  rescue  may  be  near.  There  is  hope  so  long  as  one  plank 
holds  fast  betwixt  you  and  these  ravishers.  But,  if  they 
be  come  to  the  last  door,  and,  looking  from  the  watch- 
tower  ye  can  discern  no  sign  of  help,  then,  by  my  mother's 
honor,  sooner  would  I  strike  my  dagger  into  the  bosom 
of  each  noble  demoiselle — ay,  or  cast  her  with  mine  own 
hands  from  the  battlements — than  see  them  fall  alive  into 
Gian  Malatesta's  power." 

Each  syllable  struck  on  the  father's  heart  like  a  knell, 
but  his  first  weakness  was  past  and  he  answered  stead- 
fastly enough,  grasping  the  esquire's  hand  in  both  his 
own. 

"Well  has  thou  spoken  and  wisely.  Woe  is  me,  that  I 
can  aid  thee  no  more  than  if  I  were  a  bed-ridden  beldame  ; 
yet,  if  I  may  no  longer  sway  estoc,  I  can  still  wield 
misericorde,  and  it  shall  do  my  children  the  last  good 
office.  Would  to  God,  there  had  been  a  son  born  to  mine 
house  like  unto  thee.  Wilt  thou  not  tell  me  the  name  of 
him  who  this  night  proffers  his  life  more  readily  for 
strangers,  and  enemies  to  boot,  than  many  would  do  for 
their  nearest  of  kin?" 

"Ralph  Brakespeare" — was  the  careless  answer.  "It 
is  of  no  great  repute  as  yet,  and  mayhap  never  will  be ; 
but,  for  such  work  as  we  have  to  do  to-night,  it  may 
serve  as  well  as  a  better.  And  now,  my  lord,  I  crave  your 
leave  to  depart.  When  I  knock  thrice  on  the  door  at  the 
stairhead,  let  Rene,  I  pray  you,  descend.  He  shall  fasten 
the  last  pieces  of  my  heavy  armor,  ere  I  send  him  forth. 
So,  for  the  present,  I  bid  you  farewell ;  and  may  the  saints 
send  us  good  deliverance !" 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  177 

With  another  cordial  hand-pressure,  they  parted;  and 
Ralph,  attended  by  Lanyon,  went  forth  on  his  round  of 
duty.  Several  times  during  his  progress  he  could  not 
help  glancing  curiously  at  certain  faces,  with  a  hope  of 
some  signs  of  friendly  intelligence,  whereby  he  might 
have  guessed  that  such  an  one  would  fain  have  warned 
him  of  the  plot.  But  none  such  could  he  discover; 
only  one  man  gave  him  a  gruff  "good-night."  This  was 
a  burley  Northumbrian — Miles  Swinburne  by  name — who 
was  posted  at  the  barbican.  But  Ralph  thought  within 
himself  that,  even  if  this  were  not  another  traitor,  he 
could  help  but  little,  and  forebore  questioning  him.  Pass- 
ing through  the  courtyard  on  his  return — it  was  now 
almost  dark — he  encountered  Gian  Malatesta. 

"I  will  pray  you  to  take  my  place  at  supper  to-night," 
Brakespeare  said — "for  I  am  strangely  heavy  and  ill  at 
ease,  and  have  more  mind  for  sleep  than  meat  or  drink ; 
also,  to  go  the  rounds  needfully  an  hour  before  midnight, 
waking  me  only  if  there  be  cause  for  alarm.  I  will  to 
my  pallet  now  which  is  laid  in  the  presence-chamber." 

All  Ralph's  rare  self-command  was  needed  to  enable 
him  to  listen  patiently  to  the  Italian's  courteous  con- 
dolences and  the  smooth  assurances  that  all  duty  should 
be  exactly  performed;  but  he  went  his  way  without 
betraying  himself. 

By  seven  of  the  clock  all  who  were  not  on  guard  were 
set  down  to  a  board  plenteously  spread,  studded  all  over 
with  tall  brocs  of  wine,  that  needed  only  to  be  plenished 
from  a  cask  standing  hard  by.  Though  almost  every 
man  there  knew  that  black  deeds  were  to  be  wrought  that 
night,  never  an  one  ate  or  drank  with  appetite  less  keen, 
and  the  mirth  soon  waxed  furious.  Hearing  this,  Brake- 
speare delayed  no  longer  to  give  the  appointed  signal. 

The  Lord  of  Hacquemont  came  down  instantly,  fol- 
lowed by  his  esquire,  the  latter  bearing  lantern,  flint,  and 


178  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

steel ;  and  silently  the  two  aided  Brakespeare  to  don  the 
last  piece  of  his  armor.  In  a  cautious  whisper  Rene 
received  his  last  instructions — he  was  to  tarry  at  the  outer 
postern  till  the  rescue  arrived.  Then  putting  on  the  dis- 
guise aforementioned,  the  old  man  stole  down  the  turret 
stair  and  passed  into  the  courtyard  unobserved.  For 
several  minutes  the  other  two  listened,  holding  their 
breath  till  they  knew  of  a  certainty  that  Rene  and  Lanyon 
must  be  safe  within  the  stable,  when,  in  mute  thanksgiv- 
ing, their  eyes  met. 

Then  Brakespeare — fully  accoutred  but  for  his  helmet 
— knelt  reverently  before  the  castellan.  In  the  dim  light 
of  the  mortier  they  made  a  very  striking  group :  such 
pictures  have  been  painted  of  the  Eve  of  Knighthood, 
when  the  neophyte  takes  leave  of  his  sire  before  his  first 
vigil  in  arms. 

"Fair  lord" —  the  Englishman  said — "whether  we  shall 
meet  again,  lieth  in  God's  hand.  Lo !  here  I  crave  of  you 
your  blessing;  and,  if  mine  hand  hath  unwittingly  done 
to  death  aforetime  any  dear  friend  or  kinsman  of  yours, 
whether  we  live  or  die,  let  there  be  no  enmity  betwixt  us 
henceforth  forever." 

Only  Heaven  heard  the  low  solemn  whisper  that  passed 
Philippe  de  Hacquemont's  lips  as  he  bent  forward,  laying 
both  hands  on  the  other's  shoulders ;  but  Ralph  felt  two 
big  heavy  tears,  such  as  are  wrung  only  from  the  agony 
of  age,  drip  on  his  upturned  brow.  The  next  instant  the 
castellan  had  turned  abruptly  away  as  if  afraid  to  trust 
himself  longer,  and  Ralph  was  alone  in  the  presence- 
chamber. 


8 


CHAPTER  XX. 

AGAINST  ODDS. 

RACING  his  bascinet  carefully  on,  but  keeping 
the  vizor  up,  Brakespeare  betook  himself  to  his 
post  of  watch.  Certain  channels  were  so  cun- 
ningly pierced  in  the  great  stone  rose,  which 
formed  the  centre-point  of  the  groined  ceiling  of  the  hall, 
that  the  minutest  feature  of  the  scene  below,  lighted  as  it 
was  by  several  torches,  was  as  easy  to  distinguish  as  the 
faintest  sound. 

Every  man  at  the  long  board  was  fully  armed  after  his 
own  fashion,  save  that  some  had  laid  their  headpieces 
aside ;  and  the  carouse  went  on,  without  stint  or  stay,  with 
a  discordant  hubbub  of  talk,  broken  by  bursts  of  coarse 
laughter;  whilst  each  evil  face  grew  eviler  to  look  upon 
as  it  waxed  flushed  and  swollen  with  drink.  The  feast 
was  far  into  its  second  hour ;  and  Ralph,  grown  weary  of 
constant  espial,  only  vouchsafed  occasional  glances  below, 
when  Gian  Malatesta,  sitting  in  the  place  of  honor  betwixt 
Martin  Stackpole  and  Berchtold,  the  German,  thought 
the  ripe  season  had  come.  So,  smiting  on  the  table  with 
a  flagon  to  still  the  uproar,  he  spoke  somewhat  as  follows : 
"Gentle  my  comrades  all ;  well  I  deem  that  to  none  here 
present  my  words  will  seem  strange,  for  none  here  but 
hath  cause  to  quarrel  with  the  fashion  in  which  matters 
have  been  ruled  of  late,  and  desires  to  see  them 
amended.  Here  are  four  years  wasted,  wherein  we  have 
been  forced  to  live  on  the  bare  pittance  of  our  pay,  reap- 


i8o  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

ing  none  of  those  profits  and  privileges  that  men  of  our 
merit  may  fairly  look  for  when  carrying  on  warfare  in 
an  alien  country.  Whether  the  knight  we  follow  lacks 
the  courage,  or  the  wit,  to  lead  his  company  aright,  mat- 
ters but  little ;  I  am  aweary  of  his  service ;  and  so,  I  wot, 
are  ye  all.  And  is  it  not  enough  to  endure  his  discipline, 
without  brooking  the  insolence  of  his  favorite,  who  lords 
it  over  us  worse  than  his  master?  Did  he  not  report 
Martin  Stackpole  here,  for  drawing  dagger  in  pure  sport 
on  a  rascally  taverner ;  and  honest  Berchtold,  for  making 
rough  love  to  a  serving  wench,  till  the  knight  chid 
sharply — ay,  and  threatened  with  the  bastonnade — gal- 
lants better  born  than  he  or  his  beggarly  esquire?  Yet 
do  we  deserve  all  this — yea,  that  the  veriest  drudge  should 
laugh  us  to  scorn — if  we  let  slip  the  chance  that  Fortune 
hath  given  us  to-night  of  making  ourselves  amends.  Be- 
sides plate,  jewels,  and  apparel,  there  is  coin  enow 
hoarded  in  this  castle,  I  will  be  sworn,  to  make  every  man 
of  us  rich ;  for  the  wine,  ye  yourselves  can  speak ;  and 
are  not  the  faces  that  looked  forth  on  us  this  morning 
— to  say  naught  of  bower-women  and  handmaidens — fair 
enough  to  furnish  forth  an  orgie?  When  we  have 
wrought  our  pleasure  here,  we  need  but  to  set  forth  with 
our  booty,  and  find  safety  in  a  short  day's  ride ;  within 
that  distance,  as  I  have  certain  knowledge,  bides  stout 
John  Bacon,  with  a  puissant  armament.  If  they  have  a 
captain  to  their  mind  what  matters  it  under  what  King 
free-lances  serve?  For  the  hoards  I  speak  of,  fear  not 
that  we  find  them.  If  the  baron  himself  be  stubborn, 
some  of  his  household  will  prove  more  manageable,  for 
I  have  persuasions  that  would  make  the  dumb  to  speak. 
Now,  if  any  of  you  think  that  ye  owe  aught  to  the  brain 
that  hath  planned  all  this  gay  pastime,  grant  me,  I  pray 
you,  the  first  wooing  of  the  pale  girl  who  stood  at  the 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  181 

window  alone.  She  is  less  buxom  than  her  sisters,  I 
trow ;  nathless,  she  suits  my  fancy." 

The  smooth,  round  periods  tickled  their  ears,  even  as 
some  new,  delicate  flavor  might  have  tickled  their  palates  ; 
they  shouted  uproarious  applause,  as  they  swore,  with 
grisly  oaths,  that  he  should  have  his  will ;  and  drank, 
with  hideous  jests,  to  the  betrothal.  And  the  listener 
above  felt  a  hot  tingling  through  the  marrow  of  his  bones, 
whilst  the  tough  sinews  and  knotted  muscles  of  his  right 
arm,  on  which  he  leant,  swelled  out  as  though  they  would 
have  burst  the  mail. 

"Ten  thousand  thanks" — the  Italian  went  on,  bowing 
low  in  mock  deference.  "I  am  emboldened  by  your 
bounty  to  ask  yet  another  grace.  In  dealing  with  Ralph 
Brakespeare,  aim,  I  pray  you,  at  disabling  him ;  but 
spare  his  life,  if  it  be  possible.  Lo!  here  I  promise  all 
my  share  of  the  coined  money  to  whoso  shall  deliver  him 
alive  into  mine  hands." 

A  derisive  murmur  ran  round  the  table,  and  Stackpole 
said,  gruffly : 

"Hath  Sathanas  turned  saint  that  Malatesta  preaches 
mercy  ?" 

The  other  laughed  a  little  low  laugh,  as  sweet  as  silver, 
whilst  he  sleeked  his  glossy  moustache  with  his  white 
fingers — he  had  drawn  off  his  steel  gloves  when  he  sat 
down. 

"Impute  not  such  virtue  to  a  sinner  like  me,  camarado 
mio.  I  would  not  have  him  live,  but  I  would  see  him  die 
leisurely — after  mine  own  fashion — and  not  till  I  have 
mocked  my  fill." 

The  unearthly  malignity  of  the  words  struck  even  the 
drunken  ruffians  who  heard  them  with  a  kind  of  disgust, 
and  there  was  a  pause,  while  each  looked  rather  blankly 
on  his  fellow.  And  all  the  while,  right  over  the  bandit's 


182  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

head,  there  lowered  down  on  him  a  face,  feller  and  fiercer 
than  his  own — the  face  of  the  man  he  doomed. 

The  silence  was  broken  by  Berchtold's  hoarse,  bellow- 
ing tones. 

"We  might  have  known  thee  better,  Johann.  Hagel!  an' 
that  be  all,  we  may  suit  thy  fancy  even  here.  If  once  I 
get  within  arm's  length  of  the  younker,  I  will  bear  him 
where  thou  wilt  with  no  more  harm  than  a  rough  squeeze. 
See  thou  shrink  not  from  thy  bargain." 

"See  thou  claim  it" — Malatesta  answered,  gibingly. 
"Puissant  is  thy  hug,  my  bear  of  Boppart ;  but  never  yet 
hast  ihou  grappled  with  so  tough  a  morsel  of  man's  flesh. 
Now  'tis  time  we  were  at  work.  If  I  break  our  revel, 
my  jovial  mates,  'tis  but  that  we  may  fall  to  later  with 
a  heartier  good  will.  There  are  two  must  be  dealt  with 
ere  we  come  to  the  esquire :  Lanyon  on  the  north  battle- 
ments, and  yon  other  in  the  barbican.  Who  will  charge 
himself  with  these  small  matters?  Let  two  go  on  either 
errand,  though  one  might  suffice,  for  a  mace-blow  from 
behind  will  settle  all  quickly." 

Before  any  could  reply,  Ralph  had  risen  to  his  feet. 
Not  even  in  that  moment  of  supreme  peril  had  he  ever 
a  thought  of  leaving  to  his  fate,  unwarned,  the  one  honest 
man  in  that  nest  of  traitors.  He  only  now  repented  him- 
self of  not  having  trusted  him  more  entirely.  He  moved 
swiftly  to  the  window  looking  towards  the  barbican,  and 
his  stern  voice  clave  the  still  night  air  startlingly  — 

"Swinburne!  Miles  Swinburne!  There  is  treachery, 
and  I  cannot  aid  thee.  Cast  thyself  into  the  moat  and 
flee ;  'tis  thy  last  chance  for  life." 

There  was  uproar  amongst  the  bandits  below  as  if  an 
enemy  had  broken  in  unawares,  and  all,  catching  up  their 
weapons,  streamed  pellmell  into  the  courtyard.  And  the 
trembling  girls  above  clustered  closer  round  the  crucifix- 
foot,  with  smothered  screams  and  moans ;  and  Marguerite 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  183 

de  Hacquemont's  pale  face  waxed  whiter  yet,  whilst  her 
father,  after  a  few  muttered  words  of  encouragement, 
and  a  whisper  to  an  ancient  servitor,  went  down  to  his 
post  just  within  the  door.  And  Ralph  Brakespeare,  as 
he  pushed  the  raised  flagstone  back  to  its  place  in 
the  flooring  with  his  heel,  locked  his  vizor  deliberately, 
and  mounted  the  platform  of  the  stair,  carrying  with  him 
the  lighted  mortier,  which  he  fixed  in  a  nook  in  the  wall. 
Then,  after  crossing  himself  thrice  devoutly,  he  waited 
patiently  for  what  should  ensue,  with  his  great  epee 
d'arines  drawn,  and  his  mace  laid  ready  to  his  hand.  He 
would  cumber  himself  with  no  shield. 

For  some  minutes  the  turmoil  went  on  below.  What 
had  happened  in  the  barbican  Ralph  could  not  divine ; 
but,  from  certain  cries  of  wrath  and  disappointment,  he 
guessed  that  Lanyon's  escape  had  been  discovered.  Soon 
they  all  came  trooping  back  again,  and  feet  clattered 
through  the  presence-chamber.  The  next  instant,  the 
narrow  stair  was  thronged  with  armed  men,  some  of  the 
rearmost  bearing  torches. 

Right  in  front  of  the  rush  was  Berchtold  of  Boppart, 
his  coarse  features  a-blaze  with  drink,  and  distorted  with 
passion,  swaying  a  massive  iron  lever,  such  as  was  used 
for  bending  trebuchets,  whilst  a  savage  grin  on  his  thick 
lips  made  the  whole  expression  of  his  face  rather  bestial 
than  human.  He  came  on  recklessly  with  lowered  head, 
intending  to  drop  his  crowbar,  and  grapple.  But,  the 
instant  he  was  within  fair  distance,  Ralph's  heavy  blade 
came  down  on  the  left  side  of  the  giant's  gorget,  griding 
sheer  through  plate,  and  mail,  and  bone,  till  it  bit  deep 
into  the  right  shoulder ;  so  that  the  huge  corpse  fell  back 
almost  headless  among  the  startled  crowd.  Startled — for, 
though  every  man  there  had  taken  and  given  good  store 
of  hard  blows,  none  had  ever  looked  on  so  stark  a 
sword-stroke. 


184  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

During  the  slight  confusion  that  ensued  and  whilst 
those  in  front  were  freeing  themselves  of  their  ghastly 
cumbrance,  Brakespeare's  voice  was  heard.  He  had  no 
hope  of  it's  being  listened  to,  but  he  knew  that  every 
minute  was  worth  a  diamond,  and  was  too  cool  to  throw 
the  slightest  chance  away. 

"Harken" — he  said — "all  ye,  whom  I  thought  true  and 
loyal  men  this  morning.  Ye  may  yet  'scape  the  gallows, 
an'  ye  will  be  guided  by  me.  I  know  the  arch-traitors 
among  ye.  One  hath  paid  forfeit  already.  If  ye  now 
retire,  and  presently  deliver  bound  into  mine  hands,  Gian 
Malatesta  and  Martin  Stackpole,  I  will  engage,  on  Sir 
John  Hawkwood's  behalf,  that  the  rest  of  ye  shall  be  free 
to  go  and  seek  other  service  where  ye  will.  Other- 
wise  " 

Over  the  roar  of  derision  that  resounded  through  the 
vaulted  staircase,  could  be  distinguished  the  Italian's 
silvery  tones.  Yet  not  he,  but  another,  thrust  his  way  to 
the  front,  sword  in  hand.  Then  Ralph  Brakespeare 
laughed,  in  his  turn,  loud  and  scornfully — 

"Ha!  honest  Martin.  Art  thou,  too,  so  greedy  of  thy 
Judas  wages  ?"  And  the  combat  began. 

The  issue  seemed  at  first  very  doubtful.  Stackpole  was 
strong  and  subtle  of  frame,  and  noted  for  skill  with  his 
weapon ;  he  was  clad,  too,  in  harness  of  proof,  and  held 
his  own  gallantly,  despite  the  disadvantage  of  ground. 
But  Ralph  had  reason  good  for  protracting  the  struggle ; 
and  it  might  have  lasted  longer,  had  he  not  feared  strain- 
ing his  muscles  by  over-long  sword-play.  At  length  his 
arm  appeared  to  sink  wearily.  Deluded  by  the  feint,  the 
other  lounged  with  all  his  might  at  the  weakest  point  in 
his  adversary's  harness,  the  upper  rim  of  the  throat-piece. 
A  swift  motion  of  Brakespeare's  head  caused  the  thrust 
to  glance  aside  ;  the  next  instant  a  hoarse  yell  woke  up  the 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  185 

echoes,  and  Stackpole  fell  back,  pierced  through  eye  and 
brain  through  the  bars  of  his  vizor. 

For  very  shame,  Gian  Malatesta  could  no  longer  for- 
bear coming  to  the  front.  It  was  not  exactly  cowardice 
that  had  hitherto  kept  him  in  the  background,  but  he  ever 
liked  to  see  others  doing  his  work ;  moreover,  the  super- 
stition before  alluded  to,  made  him  disinclined  to  pit  him- 
self single-handed  against  the  esquire.  Now  no  choice 
was  left  him.  Spurning  aside  the  corpse  of  his  comrade, 
still  quivering  in  the  death  pang,  he  planted  himself  fairly 
before  his  enemy. 

"Corpo  di  VenereT  the  Italian  said,  in  a  slow,  sup- 
pressed tone.  "So  we  two  must  play  out  the  play,  that 
yonder  bungler  began.  Thou  art  at  thy  old  knight- 
errant's  trade ;  only,  flying  at  higher  game  than  when 
thou  didst  buckler  the  tymbestere.  'Tis  my  turn  now. 
I  play  not  my  life  against  thine;  if,  after  essaying  thee, 
I  prevail  not,  we  will  ply  arbalest,  till  thou  fallest  down 
there  maimed — not  slain  outright.  Die  thou  shalt  not, 
till,  bound  hand  and  foot,  thou  hast  seen  how  Gian 
Malatesta  can  love,  and  felt  how  he  can  hate." 

Lest  is  should  seem  unnatural  that  in  such  a  crisis  there 
should  be  dallying  with  words,  it  should  be  remembered 
that — if  the  chronicles  of  the  time  speak  sooth — men,  even 
in  the  hottest  engagements  found  leisure  to  make  ora- 
tions worthy  of  being  recorded.  And,  furthermore,  up 
to  a  much  later  period,  the  Italians  were  specially  prone 
to  prelude  their  duels  with  similar  taunts,  either  intend- 
ing to  envenom  their  own  wrath,  or  to  goad  their  adver- 
saries into  rashness.  If,  for  the  very  first  time  since  the 
peril  began,  Brakespeare's  voice  shook  a  little,  it  surely 
was  not  with  fear. 

"Ser  Malatesta" — he  said — "for  one  thing  do  I  render 
thanks  to  God :  whether  I  die  or  live,  this  night  earth 
must  needs  be  rid  of  thee.  What  ailed  thy  curtalaxe  that 


186  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

it  struck  not  home  in  Calais  causeway  ?  Now,  with  mur- 
der, and  ravishment,  and  cogging  of  dice,  thou  hast  well- 
nigh  done,  for  the  Devil  himself,  whom  thou  servest,  will 
not  pluck  thee  out  of  Hawkwood's  hands.  As  I  hope  for 
Heaven's  mercy,  so  do  I  believe,  within  short  space,  that 
glib  tongue  of  thine  will  be  raven's  food." 

Such  an  involuntary  shiver  ran  through  Malatesta's 
veins,  as  men  are  said  to  feel  when  others  walk  over  their 
graves;  but  he  braced  himself  with  an  effort,  and,  mut- 
tering a  curse  on  his  own  folly,  attacked  Ralph  fiercely. 

Once  again  the  combat  was  obstinately  protracted,  for, 
if  Stackpole  were  a  skilful  swordsman,  Malatesta  was  a 
perfect  master  of  his  weapon,  and  came  fresh  to  its  use ; 
whilst  Ralph — though  in  stature  and  strength  he  had 
decided  advantage — was  beginning  to  feel  the  long  strain 
on  his  sword-arm.  Conscious  of  this,  the  esquire  deter- 
mined to  risk  somewhat  to  rid  himself  speedily  of  his 
most  dangerous  foe ;  so,  watching  his  opportunity,  he 
brought  his  great  epce  d'armes  down  with  a  swing  that 
must  have  carried  all  before  it.  But  the  lithe  Italian  dived 
down,  avoiding  the  blow  so  that  it  swept  harmlessly  over 
his  shoulder ;  and  the  blade,  striking  full  on  the  stone 
pillar  of  the  stairway,  shivered  nearly  to  the  hilt.  With 
a  shrill  cry  of  triumph,  Malatesta  sprang  up  to  press  his 
advantage ;  but  whilst  the  cry  was  still  on  his  lips,  the 
truncheon  of  steel,  hurled  with  Brakespeare's  full  force, 
struck  him  betwixt  the  brows,  and,  losing  his  footing, 
he  staggered  back,  stunned  and  bleeding,  into  the  arms 
of  his  followers. 

Again  the  crowd  swayed  to  and  fro,  discomfited ; 
whilst  the  dusky  red  glare  of  the  torches  cast  weird 
effects  of  light  and  shade  on  the  rugged  faces  working 
with  rage  and  fear;  on  the  corpses  wallowing  in  their 
blood;  and  on  the  single  figure  that  towered  still  in  its 
pride  of  place,  erect,  unwounded,  victorious.  Some 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  187 

called  for  arbalests.  Others — these  of  the  rearmost — 
cried  shame,  on  a  score  being  held  at  bay  by  one ;  bidding 
their  fellows  in  front  "Make  in,"  and  drag  their  enemy 
down  by  sheer  force  of  numbers.  But  none  cared  to  trust 
himself  fairly  within  the  sweep  of  the  ponderous  mace 
that  Brakespeare  brandished,  lightly  as  a  riding  wand. 
Moreover,  whilst  the  Italian  was  down,  the  assailants 
lacked  a  leader. 

After  awhile  there  was  a  stir  in  the  heart  of  the  throng. 
Gian  Malatesta  had  recovered  his  feet,  and  his  senses 
too  for,  evidently  in  obedience  to  his  order,  two  men-at- 
arms  advanced  abreast,  and  engaged  Brakespeare,  thrust- 
ing and  foining  with  their  long  swords,  more,  it  seemed, 
with  purpose  of  wearying,  than  seriously  harming  him ; 
since  neither  of  them  attempted  to  close.  With  no  great 
exertion  of  strength  or  skill,  the  esquire  parried  the  double 
assault,  catching  the  blades  on  the  head  or  steel  handle 
of  his  mace,  or  dashing  them  aside  with  a  dexterous 
moidinet.  But  thus  his  attention  was,  perforce,  entirely 
engaged,  and  he  never  dreamed  of  fresh  danger,  till  he 
felt  a  sharp  pang,  and  a  hot  gush  of  blood  down  the 
under  part  of  the  thigh,  where  cw'r  bouilli  replaced  the 
upper  plates  of  the  cuissard. 

That  felon  stroke  came  from  no  other  than  Malatesta. 
Creeping  up,  unobserved,  behind  his  fellows,  he  had 
leveled  a  sidelong  thrust,  with  a  short,  sharp-bladed 
spear,  by  which  his  foe  must  certainly  have  been  ham- 
strung, had  not  a  sudden  forward  movement  of  Brake- 
speare's  left  knee  .caused  the  steel  to  strike  some  inches 
above  where  it  was  aimed,  so  that,  instead  of  severing 
the  tendon,  it  only  sank  deep  into  the  brawn  of  the  thigh ; 
nevertheless,  the  hurt  was  very  sore.  The  Italian  knew 
this  as  he  withdrew  the  reeking  weapon,  crying,  exult- 
ingly,  "Toccata!" 

And  Ralph  Brakespeare  knew  it  too,  as  groaning,  not 


188  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

in  bodily  pain,  but  in  bitterness  of  heart,  he  leant  heavily 
against  the  door  at  his  back.  He  knew  that  it  could  be 
only  a  question  of  moments  now ;  that  mere  loss  of  blood 
would  soon  render  him  weaker  than  the  weakest  of  the 
frail  things  he  had  tried  to  defend ;  and  that  rescue  would, 
after  all,  come  too  late.  It  was  not  that  he  shrank  from 
death — that  he  had  been  ready  to  meet  any  day  these 
eight  years  past — but  it  may  be  he  thought  it  hard  to 
die  just  now,  after  achieving  a  feat  of  arms  that  must 
needs  have  made  him  famous,  had  other  witnesses  been 
left  thereof  besides  the  corpses  yonder.  Keenest  regret  of 
all — the  good  fight  had  been  fought  utterly  in  vain. 

From  his  post  withinside  the  door,  Philippe  de  Hac- 
quemont  heard  the  groan,  and  guessed  that  no  light  cause 
had  drawn  it  forth.  His  voice  was  hollow  and  full  of 
anguish,  as  it  sounded  close  to  Ralph's  ear. 

"Ah!  woe  is  me,  my  son,  art  thou  sped?  Then  am  I 
too  long  here,  for  I  have  black  work  to  do  above.  Fare 
thee  well.  May  God  receive  our  souls,  and  requite  thee 
in  heaven!" 

Hastily  Ralph  made  answer ;  turning  his  head  aside,  so 
that  only  the  castellan  should  hear. 

"Nay,  my  lord,  be  not  over  hasty.  I  am  sore  hurt,  but 
not  so  sore  but  that  I  can  strike  another  good  blow  yet ; 
and  help  may  be  nearer  than  we  wot  of." 

He  spoke  quite  calmly ;  yet,  each  moment,  he  was  pos- 
sessed more  and  more  by  that  sombre  fury,  which  made 
the  old  Bersekyr  never  more  dangerous  than  when  they 
had  gotten  their  death-wound.  It  braced  his  slackened 
sinews,  coursing  hotly  through  his  veins,  and  driving 
the  sick  faintness  before  it;  his  finger  griped  the  mace 
handle,  as  though  they  would  have  sunk  into  the  steel ; 
and  he  gathered  himself  together  for  one  last  plunge  into 
the  midst  of  the  assassins,  who  still  stood  aloof,  though 
their  work  was  more  than  half  done.  But  first  he  would 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  189 

have  one  draught  of  air,  albeit,  it  was  heavy  with  the 
smoke  of  torches  and  the  foul  reek  of  blood ;  so  he  cast 
back  his  vizor.  Passion,  even  more  than  exhaustion,  had 
made  his  face  deathly  pale ;  and  it  was  marked,  withal, 
with  such  a  terrible  menace,  that  those  who  stood  nearest 
shrank  back  appalled,  even  as  they  might  have  shrunk 
from  one  of  those  armed  spectres  of  which  ancient  legends 
tell. 

At  that  very  instant,  when  Brakespeare's  right  foot 
was  planted  forward  for  the  spring,  there  rang  out  from 
above  a  long  shriek,  such  an  one  as,  whether  it  spring 
from  overwhelming  joy  or  crushing  sorrow,  can  only 
issue  once  in  a  lifetime  from  any  woman's  lips ;  and  then, 
near  and  clear,  a  sound  familiar  to  both  assailants  and 
assailed,  each  second  waxing  nearer  and  clearer — the  war- 
note  of  John  Hawkwood's  trumpet. 

There  was  tumult  and  uproar  on  the  narrow  stair,  as 
the  assailants  crushed  and  trampled  on  each  other  in 
eagerness  to  flee,  bearing  in  the  midst  of  them  Gian 
Malatesta,  who  struggled  furiously  to  get  clear,  that  he 
might  deal  one  finishing  stroke  on  his  enemy,  well  nigh 
helpless  now,  for  a  strong  reaction  unstrung  Ralph's 
limbs  once  more,  and  he  sank  back  half  swooning.  As  the 
bandits  issued  into  the  outer  air,  a  column  of  armed  men 
streamed  out  of  the  stable-door  into  the  moonlight,  at  the 
head  of  whom  came  a  knight,  with  his  vizor  up,  bearing 
in  his  hand  a  sheathed  sword.  And  a  voice,  steady  and 
passionless,  as  though  it  had  commanded  some  ordinary 
martial  exercise,  spoke : 

"Hew  me  down  all  that  carrion ;  but  Gian  Malatesta 
— him  with  the  bright  Milan  helmet — I  charge  ye  bring  to 
me  alive." 

It  was  rather  an  execution  than  a  combat,  for  the  con- 
science-stricken mutineers  made  scarce  a  semblance  of 
defense ;  only  the  Italian  fought  like  a  wolf,  till  he  was 


igo           THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

borne  to  the  ground,  and  bound  securely  with  a  halter. 
Hawkwood  stayed  not  to  watch  the  performance  of  his 
order ;  but  passed  straight  into  the  keep,  and  on  through 
the  presence-chamber,  picking  up  a  torch  that  a  mutineer 
had  cast  away,  and  so,  up  the  steps  slippery  with  blood, 
till  he  came  to  the  door  athwart  which  Brakespeare  lay 
in  his  swoon,  as  though  he  would  have  guarded  the 
threshold  to  the  last.  Almost  at  the  same  instance  it  was 
opened  from  within  by  the  old  castellan.  The  knight 
smote  his  breast  with  his  gauntleted  hand,  till  the  corslet 
rang  again. 

"I  have  sinned  more  grievously  than  I  wist  of ;  else, 
had  I  been  spared  the  shame  of  coming  thus  late." 

And  stooping,  he  lifted  on  his  knee  the  white  set  face, 
gazing  down  on  it  with  real  remorse  on  his  own.  But 
Philippe  de  Hacquemont — who,  since  he  became  disabled 
for  arms,  had  beguiled  his  leisure  by  study  of  chirvirgery, 
till  he  acquired  no  mean  skill  therein — was  better  able  to 
distinguish  betwixt  swoon  and  death. 

"Nay,  my  lord" — he  said — "things  are  not  come  to  such 
a  pass.  He  spake  to  me  right  stoutly  some  few  minutes 
agone.  If  he  have  no  worse  hurt  than  yon  thigh-wound, 
by  God's  grace,  he  shall  do  well  yet.  Bind  your  sword- 
belt,  I  pray  you,  as  tightly  as  you  may  above  the  wound 
whilst  I  loosen  his  gorget,  and  cause  him  to  breath  this 
essence.  See  you,  now" — he  went  on,  after  a  pause — "the 
blood  is  staunching  fast,  and  his  lips  are  no  longer  so 
wan.  Have  him  borne,  so  soon  as  may  be,  to  our  chamber 
above.  There  he  shall  be  tended  as  if  he  were  my  first- 
born son." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

BREATHING  TIME. 

ANYON,  being  on  all  subjects  a  man  of  one 
idea,  was  singularly  so  on  the  point  of  duty. 
Albeit  not  less  anxious  than  Hawkwood  him- 
self, concerning  Brakespeare's  well  or  ill-far- 
ing, it  never  occurred  to  him  to  look  after  his  master 
above,  whilst  there  was  work  for  him  to  do  below.  So  he 
cast  himself  into  the  mellay  with  a  will,  laying  about  him 
lustily.  He  it  was,  indeed,  who  actually  pinioned  Mala- 
testa,  and  held  him  down  till  halters  were  brought.  The 
Italian  gnashed  his  teeth  once,  when  he  saw  who  it  was 
that  thus  roughly  entreated  him,  but  spake  never  a 
word.  After  awhile  Hawkwood  came  down,  and  bade 
Lanyon  take  three  or  four  with  him,  who  should  bear 
the  esquire  to  the  upper  chamber  of  the  keep,  and  cleanse 
away  the  traces  of  combat.  -Then  he  beckoned  to  those 
who  held  Malatesta  to  draw  near. 

The  fastenings  of  the  Italian's  helmet  had  burst  m 
the  struggle ;  and,  as  he  stood  bareheaded  before  his 
judge,  the  full  moonbeams  lighted  up  the  statuesque 
beauty  of  his  features,  already  subsiding  after  the  storm 
of  passion  into  their  cynical  languor.  He  knew  very  well 
that  his  doom  was  sealed.  It  would  have  been  less  idle 
to  look  for  water  in  a  roadside  flint,  than  for  mercy  in 
Hawkwood's  face,  even  before  his  low  bitter  tones  broke 
the  stillness. 

"Gian  Malatesta,  with  what  black  unshriven  sins  thy 


IQ2  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

miserable  soul  hath  been  laden  afore-time,  I  care  not  to 
inquire.  One  thing  I  know :  of  every  drop  of  the  blood 
shed  here  this  night,  thou  art  guilty  in  God's  sight  and 

mine.  Never  an  one  of  these "  he  glanced  at  the 

corpses  strewn  around,  some  scarcely  still  after  the  death 
convulsion — "would  have  had  wit  to  devise  what  was  easy 
enow  to  thy  devil's  brain.  Dullard  and  wittol  am  I,  to 
have  been  hoodwinked  by  thee  thus  long.  Better  had  I 
mixed  poison  in  their  every  morning  draught  for  these 
poor  knaves  than  have  trusted  thee  in  their  company.  But 
I  waste  words  on  thee ;  thou  didst  set  thy  life  wittingly 
on  this  last  hazard,  and,  having  lost,  shalt  pay  speedily. 
Nevertheless,  I  may  not,  as  Christian  knight,  slay  soul  as 
well  as  body.  There  is  a  priest,  doubtless,  within  sum- 
mons ;  and  for  shrift,  thou  shalt  have  one  hour's  grace." 

The  Italian  laughed  out  insolently. 

"I  thank  your  saintly  worship ;  of  such  grace  will  I 
none.  Even  He  of  Avignon,  though  they  say  he  holds  the 
keys  of  heaven  and  hell,  would  scarce  absolve  me  if  I 
made  confession  fair  and  full.  An  monks'  tales  be  true, 
the  Devil  will  soon  have  his  own ;  and  I  care  not  to  vex 
my  Master  needlessly.  I  have  served  him  well,  and  had 
served  him  better  to-night  if  ye  had  not  come  to  spoil  all. 
Yet  what  rare  sport  have  i  had  in  my  time.  Ohime! 
When  I  think " 

Over  his  countenance  there  stole  a  pensive  expression 
of  half  tender  regret,  such  as  might  become  some  man 
of  blameless  life,  recalling  the  innocence  of  his  childhood 
or  youth. 

There  was  something  so  ghastly  and  unnatural  in  the 
covert  exultation,  that  those  who  stood  near,  almost 
strangers  to  him  for  the  most  part,  shrank  from  the  hard- 
ened blasphemer. 

Hawkwood  broke  in : 

"Enough  of  this;  thy  blood  be  upon  thine  own  head. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  193 

Have  him  away  instantly.  Curzon,  them  knowest  how  to 
deal  with  him ;  I  gave  thee  charge  concerning  this  as  we 
rode  hither." 

"Stay  yet  an  instant" — said  Malatesta,  eagerly,  as  they 
were  about  to  lead  him  off.  "It  cannot  harm  ye  to  an- 
swer me  one  question.  Doth  Ralph  Brakespeare  live?" 

"Ay,  and  is  likely  to  live" — the  knight  retorted,  with  a 
grim  smile.  "Otherwise  the  penance,  that  thou  shall 
abye  presently,  had  been  light  compared  to  that  thou 
shouldst  have  suffered  at  mine  hands." 

Malatesta  struck  his  armed  heel  on  the  pavement  till 
fire  flew  from  the  stones. 

"I  might  have  guessed  it" — he  muttered.  "His  star 
again — his  star.  On  with  ye  as  quickly  as  ye  will.  A 
cadet  of  Malatesta  might  well  ask  for  silken  cord,  but 
hemp  will  serve  my  turn.  Hanging,  I  have  heard,  is  no 
hard  death ;  at  least,  so  said  the  half-strangled  Zingaro, 
who  cursed  us  so  soon  as  he  could  speak  for  cutting  him 
down." 

Once  again  the  eyes  of  the  two  met  under  the  moon. 
In  the  cold  cruelty  of  Hawkwood's  glance,  there  was  that 
which,  despite  his  bravado,  real  or  assumed,  made  the 
doomed  man  shiver. 

"Thou  knowest  many  things,  good  and  evil,  Gian  Mal- 
atesta ;  but,  I  think,  thou  knowest  not  altogether  how  trai- 
tors and  suborners  die." 

Turning  without  another  word,  the  knight  went  again 
into  the  keep. 

If  Malatesta's  life  had  been  foul  and  shameful,  not  less 
so  was  his  end,  worthy  indeed  of  an  age  barbarous,  espe- 
cially in  its  punishments.  His  right  hand  and  tongue,  sev- 
ered while  he  was  yet  alive,  were  nailed  against  the  oak, 
on  which  for  many  a  day  after,  foul  birds  of  prey  held 
carnival.  And  so  Ralph  Brakespeare's  ominous  words 
found  speedy  and  terrible  fulfilment. 


194  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

On  the  third  day,  Sir  Walter  Breckenridge  came  again 
to  Hacquemont  with  his  company,  purposing  to  occupy 
it  with  a  sufficient  force,  for  he  had  found  no  other  fort- 
ress so  much  to  his  mind.  But,  hearing  all  that  had  been 
attempted  there,  he  was  greatly  incensed  and  grieved ; 
and  resolved  to  make  such  amends  as  lay  in  his  power, 
punishment  being  taken  out  of  his  hands,  for  an  outrage, 
which,  if  consummated,  would  have  left  a  blot  on  his  own 
escutcheon.  So,  after  some  friendly  conference,  Brecken- 
ridge consented  to  withdraw  his  forces,  leaving  the  castle 
and  everything  therein  as  he  had  found  it;  taking  the 
baron's  parole  for  ransom  of  two  thousand  silver  crowns 
to  be  paid  ere  Whitsuntide.  Then  the  English  captain 
set  forth  on  his  return  to  Bordeaux,  gathering  good  store 
of  supplies  by-  the  way.  He  expected  little  thanks  or 
praise  from  Ralph  of  Stafford,  who,  he  knew,  had  looked 
for  graver  results  from  such  an  expedition  than  the  har- 
rying of  some  score  or  two  of  homesteads.  But  the  Earl 
was  a  chivalrous  noble,  though  a  hot  partisan,  and,  having 
heard  the  causes  of  his  lieutenant's  moderation,  averred 
that  all  had  been  well  and  knightly  done. 

Sorely  discontented  was  John  Hawkwood,  as  he  rode 
westward  with  the  rest.  He  did  not  repent,  truly,  of  his 
summary  justice.  Nevertheless,  it  left  his  pennon  shorn, 
for  the  moment,  of  imniediate  following ;  and  his  late 
severity,  though  none  could  say  it  was  sterner  than  dis- 
cipline demanded,  was  scarce  likely  to  attract  recruits. 
Also,  he  was  still  in  no  small  anxiety  concerning  his  es- 
quire, whom,  perforce,  he  had  left  at  Hacquemont,  with 
Lanyon  to  attend  him.  For,  soon  after  Ralph  revived 
from  his  long  swoon,  fever  ensued ;  and,  for  days  after 
Sir  John's  departure,  he  hovered  betwixt  life  and  death. 
But  the  Baron  of  Hacquemont  was  no  unskilful  or  care- 
less leech,  and  his  simple  remedies  were  helped  by  the 
strong  constitution  and  rare  physical  energies  of  the  pa- 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  195 

tient.  So,  one  morning,  Brakespeare  woke  from  a  deep 
sleep,  too  weak  to  stir,  but  with  head  cool  and  senses 
clear,  so  clear  that  he  seemed  to  guess  at  once  that  all 
had  gone  well,  and  for  awhile  forebore  speaking.  It  was 
characteristic  of  the  man,  and  his  thorough  soldierly  in- 
stincts, that  his  first  question  related  to  Miles  Swinburne. 
Lanyon  answered  it  in  his  own  plain  fashion: 

"We  found  him  under  the  arch  of  the  gate  tower,  with 
his  skull  crushed  like  a  hazelnut.  It  was  no  light  hand 
bestowed  that  buffet,  and  just  such  an  one  might  have 
been  dealt  by  the  crowbar  that  we  had  work  to  pluck  out 
of  big  Berchtold's  stiff  fingers." 

"It  grieves  me  that  I  might  not  save  him" — Ralph  said  : 
"the  more  so,  that  in  thought  I  partly  did  him  wrong. 
I  did  essay  to  warn  him ;  but,  mayhap,  did  rather  harm 
than  good.  He  was  of  the  right  bulldog  breed,  that  ever 
runs  toward,  instead  of  from,  the  danger.  If  I  live,  I 
will  not  fail  to  see  masses  sung  for  his  soul.  And  with 
yon  traitorous  scum,  how  fared  it?  'Twere  shame  if  one 
'scaped,  for  they  were  fairly  trapped,  I  trow." 

"Trouble  not  yourself  concerning  that,  messire" — the 
other  answered,  chuckling  hoarsely.  "The  most  of  them 
had  short  and  sharp  shrift.  Sir  John  bade  hew  all  down 
where  they  stood,  save  one ;  and,  I  warrant  you,  we  did 
not  the  work  negligently.  That  one — your  worship 
guesses  who  I  mean — fared  not  much  better,  when  his 
turn  came.  From  the  window  of  this  chamber  ye  can 
see  the  topmost  branches  of  the  oak,  whereon  hangs  all 
of  Gian  Malatesta  that  gleds  and  hooded  crows  see 
fit  to  leave,  with  his  tongue  and  right  hand  nailed  on 
either  side.  By  St.  Giles !  'tis  a  gruesome  sight,  and  one 
scarce  fit  for  the  eyes  of  demoiselles  to  look  upon ;  where- 
fore the  knave  met  with  his  deserts  just  without  ken  from 
the  castle." 

Ralph  Brakespeare  was  stubborn  in  hatred,  as  loyal  in 


196  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

friendship ;  and  his  simple  religion  enabled  him  not  to 
mutter  one  prayer  for  the  weal  of  his  dead  enemy. 

Here  entered  the  castellan  to  relieve  the  archer  on  his 
watch,  and  to  enjoin  silence.  Indeed,  it  was  not  long 
after  that  the  patient  heard,  one  by  one,  all  the  adventures 
of  that  night — how  Lanyon's  horse  had  fallen  exhausted 
just  within  the  light  of  the  English  camp-fires ;  how 
Hawkwood  had  leaped  to  saddle  before  the  tale  was  half 
told,  and  would  scarce  tarry  till  two  score  lances  were 
ready  to  follow ;  how  he  had  spurred  forward  through 
the  moonlight,  groaning  ever  and  anon,  as  though  in  sore 
pain ;  and  rarely  turning  his  head,  though  man  after  man 
dropped  behind,  till  out  of  two  score  scarce  half  drew 
rein  together  under  Hacquemont  mound;  and  how  Sir 
John  uttered  loud  and  devout  thanksgiving  when  the  first 
clash  of  arms  from  within  told  him  it  was  not  yet  too  late 
for  his  trumpet  to  sound  the  charge. 

In  Brakespeare's  troubled  life  there  had  been  singularly 
little  of  quiet  happiness — nothing,  certainly,  compared  to 
what  encompassed  him  during  his  slow,  steady  convales- 
cence. Not  the  kind  old  castellan  alone,  but  others  in 
whose  behalf  he  had  done  his  devoir,  sought  in  all  ways 
to  do  honor  to  their  defender;  white  hands  were  always 
ready  to  arrange  fresh  spring  flowers  in  Ralph's  chamber, 
or  to  strike  on  lute  or  gittern  for  his  pleasure  ;  and  Odille, 
the  baron's  younger  daughter — a  brilliant  brunette  of 
seventeen — would  sit  by  his  couch  for  hours,  reading  in 
her  low,  sweet  voice  some  quaint  romaunt  or  chronique 
d'amour.  But  more  welcome  than  all  this  gentle  tend- 
ance were  the  visits  of  one  who  never  sang  or  touched 
lute,  and  who,  speaking  but  little,  seldom  smiled.  Ralph 
never  rested  so  well  as  when  his  pillow  had  been  smoothed 
by  Marguerite  de  Hacquemont ;  and  her  whispered  "Good 
night"  was  a  better  anodyne  than  all  the  songs  wherewith 
the  others  sought  to  lull  him  to  sleep.  Yet,  with  all  this 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  197 

liking  for  her  society,  there  mingled  not  the  faintest  spark 
of  love.  He  looked  upon  the  pale  girl  with  no  earthly 
passion,  but  much  as  he  might  have  looked  on  a  picture 
of  some  beautiful  Saint,  who  won  her  crown  of  martyr- 
dom ages  agone,  in  days  of  Paganrie,  and  there  ever  pos- 
sessed him  that  same  vague  longing  to  be  assoilzied  by 
her  blood-guiltiness,  that  he  had  felt  when  first  he  saw 
her  face. 

One  afternoon,  when  they  chanced  to  be  alone,  the 
esquire  took  heart  of  grace,  and  faltered  out  his  confes- 
sion. As  Marguerite  heard  that  to  the  man  lying  there 
she  owed  the  barrenness  and  desolation  of  her  life,  she 
could  not  repress  a  shudder  and  a  backward  movement 
of  aversion.  Brakespeare  saw  it  and  covered  his  face. 

"I  might  have  guessed  it,"  he  said,  "better  had  I  held 
my  peace.  Could  I  hope  to  be  forgiven  ?" 

But  the  true,  womanly  instinct,  purified,  not  hardened, 
by  long  trial,  asserted  itself  as  she  drew  closer  to  his  side 
than  she  had  ever  yet  done,  leaning  over  him  while  she 
spoke. 

"Mine  own  true  knight,  before — by  Heaven's  will,  and 
in  a  fair  fight,  as  I  have  heard — he  went  down  before 
your  spear,  overthrew  enemies  not  a  few ;  and  to  never  a 
one  of  these  did  he  deny  mercy,  or  fair  terms  of  grace. 
The  Holy  Virgin  forbid,  that  I  show  myself  harder  of 
heart  than  he!  Moreover,  if  my  thanks  can  profit  thee, 
thou  hast  them  by  right.  Loys  de  Chastelnaye  himself, 
had  he  lived,  could  not  have  stood  forth  more  gallantly, 
in  fence  of  the  helpless  and  innocent,  than  didst  thou. 
May  God  increase  thee  in  prosperity  and  honor.  Hence- 
forth there  is  amity  between  us — by  this  same  token." 

Stooping  yet  lower,  she  let  fall  a  kiss,  cold  and  light 
as  a  snowflake,  on  his  brow. 

"Nay,  thank  me  not" — she  went  on,  rather  more  quick- 
ly. "I  speak  only  as  become  a  Christian  maiden.  Also, 


198  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

suffer  me  to  depart  for  a  little  while.     I  will  to  mine 
oratory ;  for  never  had  I  sorer  need  of  prayer." 

On  that  subject  neither  ever  opened  their  lips  again ; 
but  Ralph  felt  lightened  of  the  heavy  burden,  and  his 
amendment  from  that  hour  was  marvelously  rapid.  Soon 
he  began  to  savor  that  great  delight,  that  none  save  the 
sick  athlete  can  thoroughly  appreciate — the  delight  from 
which  perchance  the  blind  Agonistes  was  not  wholly  ex- 
empt— the  delight  of  returning  strength.  Ere  long,  lean- 
ing on  a  crutch,  and  on  Lanyon's  brawny  shoulder,  he 
contrived  to  creep  into  the  open  air ;  and  a  fortnight  later, 
even  Philippe  of  Hacquemont — careful  as  he  was  of  his 
patient,  and  loath  to  lose  him — was  fain  to  confess  that  the 
other,  with  due  precautions,  might  safely  take  the  saddle. 
He  himself  had  been  busy  all  this  while  in  getting  togeth- 
er his  ransom ;  and,  when  the  tale  was  complete,  chose 
not  to  delay  forwarding  it.  So,  one  May  morning,  there 
mustered  in  the  courtyard,  if  not  a  gallant  escort,  at  least 
one  sufficient  to  guard  the  treasure  from  all  petty  maraud- 
ers. And  Ralph  Brakespeare  was  fain  to  bid  adieu  to 
Hacquemont. 

Odille's  bright  black  eyes  were  brimful  of  tears ;  and 
the  stately  Marguerite  looked  graver  than  usual,  as  she 
hung  a  slender  gold  cross  and  chain  round  the  esquire's 
neck,  praying  that  it  might  keep  him  from  sin  and  harm. 
But  the  heaviest  heart  there  was  the  old  castellan's.  After 
Ralph  had  mounted,  the  baron  held  his  hand  fast  betwixt 
both  his  own,  gazing  up  into  his  face  with  wistful  eyes. 

"I  know  not  why  I  am  thus  foolish" — he  said,  trying  to 
smile ;  "but  hadst  thou  been  born  in  my  house,  I  were  not 
more  loath  to  let  thee  go.  Yet,  withal,  it  glads  me  to  see 
thee  in  harness,  and  once  more  on  the  fair  road  to  honor. 
Only  remember  this.  Shouldst  thou  grow  aweary  of 
warfare,  be  it  soon  or  late,  come  back,  and  make  thy 
home  at  Hacquemont.  If  I  be  alive,  I  swear  by  the 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  199 

blessed  Saint  Ursula,  thou  shalt  be  thenceforth  unto  me 
as  my  own  son." 

Ralph  clasped  his  vizor  sharply ;  he  was  still  young 
enough  to  be  ashamed  of  showing  womanish  weakness 
in  woman's  presence,  so  his  thanks  and  farewells  were 
almost  lost  in  his  helmet.  The  next  moment  his  voice 
rang  out  sonorous  and  clear,  as  he  gave  the  word  to 
march.  But  they  had  ridden  almost  beyond  sight  of 
Hacquemont  keep,  before  the  air  and  exercise,  for  which 
he  had  pined  so  long,  braced  his  spirits  to  their  wonted 
tone. 

They  came  to  Bordeaux  in  due  course,  without  encoun- 
tering any  adventure,  good  or  evil,  by  the  way.  There 
Ralph  received  hearty  welcome — not  from  Hawkwood 
alone,  but  from  other  captains  also,  to  whom  his  prowess 
had  been  made  known.  The  Lord  of  Stafford  himself 
desired  to  see  the  strong  soldier,  who  had  slain  outright 
two  redoubtable  swordsmen,  and  kept  near  a  score  of  des- 
perate sondards  at  bay.  Once  again,  had  he  been  so 
minded,  the  esquire  had  chance  of  taking  service  in  the 
household  of  a  great  noble ;  and  once  again  he  courte- 
ously put  aside  all  such  offers  of  advancement.  Indeed, 
he  was  hardly  prevailed  upon  by  Breckenridge  to  accept 
the  twentieth  part  of  the  ransom ;  which,  but  for  him,  the 
Baron  of  Hacquemont  had  assuredly  never  lived  to  pay. 
Throughout  the  English  host  the  exploit  was  more  than 
a  nine  days'  wonder.  When  Ralph  walked  abroad,  the 
camp-followers  gathered  round  him  with  such  a  flutter 
of  half-timid  curiosity  as  you  may  see  excited  in  a  mod- 
ern crowd,  when  a  champion  of  the  prize-ring  passes 
through  their  midst ;  even  the  veteran  men-at-arms  looked 
on  him  with  a  certain  deference ;  and  prophesied  to  each 
other  that,  at  no  very  distant  time,  Brakespeare's  name 
would  be  found  among  a  fresh  batch  of  new-made 
knights. 


200  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

Ere  long  the  aspect  of  things  was  changed  in  Guienne, 
for  King  Edward,  seeking  to  turn  to  account  the  endless 
broils  betwixt  France  and  Navarre,  sent  his  son  to  take 
command  in  the  south,  whilst  he  himself  once  more 
appeared  on  the  old  battle-ground  of  Picardy.  So,  early 
in  the  summer,  the  Black  Prince  sailed  into  the  Gironde ; 
and  there  swarmed  to  his  standard  lances  and  archers, 
till  in  October  he  set  forth  eastward  at  the  head  of  a 
mighty  armament.  Right  through  Gascony  and  the  heart 
of  Languedoc  he  held  forward,  till  his  tents  were  pitched 
within  sight  of  the  Mediterranean,  leaving  all  desolate 
behind  him,  for,  despite  the  humanity  and  gentleness  so 
belauded  by  chroniclers,  none  made  havoc  more  thor- 
oughly than  that  famous  mirror  of  chivalry.  None  were 
so  bold  as  to  cross  his  path,  though  the  Lords  of  Armag- 
nac,  Bourdon,  Foix,  and  Clermont,  with  many  other 
famous  knights,  garrisoned  the  country,  outnumbering 
the  invader  with  their  spears.  All  these  tarried  in  their 
entrenchments,  and  gave  no  sign  whilst  the  English  ban- 
ners flaunted  over  the  smoking  suburbs  of  Carcassonne 
and  Narbonne.  Before  winter  closed  in,  the  Prince  had 
brought  safe  into  Bordeaux  as  many  prisoners,  and  as 
much  plunder,  as  he  chose  to  cumber  himself  with. 

In  the  following  spring,  troubles  on  the  Scots  border 
recalled  King  Edward  to  his  own  realm ;  but  none  the 
less  was  France  harassed  by  his  captains,  for  Lancaster, 
landing  at  Coutantin,  joined  forces  with  Duke  Philip  of 
Navarre  (King  Charles  was  then  in  close  prison),  and 
the  two  ceased  not  to  ravage  all  the  Normandy  sea- 
coast 

When  news  of  this  came  to  Bordeaux,  the  Black  Prince 
would  remain  idle  no  longer ;  but  set  forth  with  two  thou- 
sand lances  and  six  thousand  archers  on  another  huge 
foray  through  Limousin,  La  Marche,  Auvergne,  and  Ber- 
ry ;  purposing  to  push  forward  till  he  met  his  cousin  Lan- 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  201 

caster  in  Normandy.,  Working  their  will  on  the  country, 
as  they  had  done  aforetime,  the  English  marched  on 
without  let  or  hindrance,  till  Vierzon  was  stormed,  and 
three  famous  barons  of  France  had  rendered  themselves 
to  Edward's  mercy,  and  the  walls  of  Romorantin  could 
hold  out  no  longer  against  the  battering-engines  and 
showers  of  Greek  fire.  But  no  further  dared  the  invaders 
advance ;  for  here  they  had  certain  news  that  the  misery 
of  his  unhappy  subjects,  the  waste  of  his  realm,  and  the 
damage  of  his  honor,  had  at  last  fairly  roused  King  John, 
who  was  even  then  marching  down  from  Chartres,  with 
an  army  more  than  sufficient  to  encompass  and  crush  his 
enemy.  The  Black  Prince  was  too  great  a  captain  to 
press  daring  to  fool-hardiness ;  so  he  wheeled  in  his  tracks 
at  once,  and  turned  to  the  southwest,  intending  to  waste 
Poitou  on  his  return,  as  he  had  wasted  all  the  country 
betwixt  the  Garonne  and  Loire. 

But  this  was  not  so  to  be.  Many  times  before,  and 
since,  have  men  come  to  honor  unwillingly  or  unawares ; 
but  seldom,  surely,  hath  such  good  chance  befallen  sol- 
dier, as  that  which  suffered  Edward  not  to  pass  on  his 
way  in  peace.  King  John,  in  the  eagerness  of  his  wrath 
and  the  confidence  of  his  power,  had  made  better  speed 
than  could  have  been  reckoned  on.  Day  by  day,  unknown 
to  each  other,  the  distance  was  lessened  betwixt  the 
armies ;  till,  on  the  seventeenth  day  of  September,  Eus- 
tace de  Ribeaumont  and  his  scouts,  riding  through  the 
wooded  heaths  on  the  banks  of  Vienne,  came  suddenly 
on  the  English  rearguard. 

That  same  night  the  Black  Prince  knew  that  he  was 
fairly  in  the  toils ;  and  must  needs  give  battle — at  such 
disadvantage  of  arms  as  hath  seldom  been  recorded, 
since  the  three  hundred  held  Thermopylae  against  the 
hordes  of  the  Persians, 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

AT  BAY. 

HERE  are  histories — very  trite  and  old — of 
which  the  world  does  not  easily  grow  weary ; 
and  chiefest  among  such,  are  those  which 
record  how  the  stronger  battalions  were  forced 
to  humble  themselves  before  the  aristarchy  of  disciplined 
valor.  Wherefore,  it  may  be  well  worth  while  to  look 
back,  and  see  what  was  adoing  around  Poitiers  on  a  cer- 
tain Sabbath  morning,  five  hundred  years  agone. 

More  than  a  league  afield,  from  within  ten  furlongs 
of  the  city  gates  stretched  the  French  encampment.  Never 
since  Philippe  of  Valois  marched  out  of  Amiens  to  raise 
Calais  leaguer,  had  so  gallant  a  host  mustered  under  the 
Fleur-de-lis.  Far  and  wide  around  the  Royal  standard 
— like  forest-trees  around  the  tall  king-oak — were  reared 
the  banners  of  puissant  crown-vassals,  and  pennons 
uncounted ;  and,  when  the  forces  were  set  in  battle-array 
that  morning,  John  the  Good  reviewed  twenty  thousand 
lances,  and  twice  that  number  of  meaner  degree. 

About  two  miles  from  the  French  lines  the  Black 
Prince  had  entrenched  himself,  taking,  as  behooved  so 
wise  a  captain,  all  possible  vantage  of  ground,  which  rose 
thereabouts  into  a  steep  acclivity,  clothed  towards  the 
lower  part  with  brushwood  and  vineyards,  to  which  there 
was  but  one  access — a  deep  narrow  lane.  In  truth, 
though  the  quarry  was  fairly  harbored,  certain  skilful 
hunters  deemed  that  it  might  be  neither  safe  nor  easy  to 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  203 

force  him  in  his  lair;  and  even  King  John  was  not  so 
overweening  in  his  confidence  as  wholly  to  slight  Eus- 
tace de  Ribeaumont's  warning.  After  careful  espial  thus 
spoke  the  valiant  knight,  who  won  the  palm  of  valor  on 
Calais  causeway: 

"Sire,  we  have  observed  the  English;  and  they  may 
amount  to  nigh  two  thousand  men-at-arms,  four  thou- 
sand archers,  and  fifteen  hundred  footmen;  so  can  they 
scarce  muster  more  than  one  battalion.  Nevertheless, 
they  have  posted  themselves  strongly  and  warily.  The 
single  road  for  attack  lies  through  a  lane ;  so  strait  that 
scarcely  can  four  ride  through  it  abreast ;  and  the  hedges 
on  either  hand  are  lined  with  their  archers.  At  the  end 
of  this,  amidst  vines  and  thorns,  where  no  horsemen  may 
keep  order,  are  posted  their  men-at-arms  on  foot;  before 
these  again  is  drawn  up  a  great  body  of  their  archers  in 
shape  of  a  harrow ;  so  that  it  will  be  no  easy  matter  to 
come  at  them." 

King  John's  brows  were  overcast.  He  was  none  of 
those  who  can  bear  thwarting  or  disappointment  meekly ; 
but  he  could  not  choose  but  hearken,  and  further  con- 
strained himself  to  ask  counsel  from  his  trusty  captain. 
Thus  De  Ribeaumont  made  answer: 

"Sire,  if  ye  will  be  ruled  by  me,  ye  will  attack  on  foot ; 
sending  forward  before  your  vanguard  some  three  hun- 
dred choice  gens  d'armes,  excellently  mounted,  who  shall 
break,  if  it  be  possible,  the  body  of  archers  whereof  I 
spake.  Then  shall  your  main  battalion  advance ;  and 
coming  hand  to  hand  with  the  English,  give  the  best 
account  of  them  they  may.  Such  is  my  poor  counsel ; 
and  if  any  man  knows  a  shrewder,  let  him  speak  it  forth 
in  God's  name." 

The  King  answered — "Thus  shall  it  be."  And,  then 
calling  to  his  marshals,  John  of  Clermont  and  Arnold 


204  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

D'Andreghen,  began  after  the  aforesaid  fashion  to  set 
the  battle  in  array. 

But  it  was  Heaven's  will  that  the  unlucky  monarch 
should  not  be  spared  a  single  sorrow  in  the  aftertime. 
Keenest  surely  of  all  the  torments  that  beset  the  ruined 
gamester  is  the  remembrance  that  the  heavy  stake  lay 
once  utterly  at  his  mercy,  had  he  not,  in  blindness  or 
rashness,  cast  the  chance  away. 

The  trumpets  were  almost  ready  to  sound,  when  there 
rode  down  from  Poitiers  in  haste  a  large  and  motley 
company;  wherein  neither  pomp  of  church  nor  war  was 
lacking ;  for  cross  and  pillar  glittered  in  the  front  of  many 
lances.  It  was  the  Cardinal  Talleyrand  de  Perigord,  that 
great  house-bred  diplomatist,  even  then,  who,  with  his 
brother  of  Capoccio,  came  to  make  a  last  effort  at  recon- 
ciliation. Neither  was  King  John  at  first  averse  to  listen 
to  such  overture.  And  all  that  day  the  peacemakers  rode 
to  and  fro,  striving,  as  became  their  office,  to  avert  blood- 
shedding.  The  Black  Prince  must  have  known  himself 
in  sore  strait  before  he  thought  of  setting  his  hand  to 
such  conditions  as  these — to  surrender  all  French  towns 
and  castles  that  he  held ;  to  give  up  without  ransom  all 
his  prisoners ;  and  to  make  oath  that  for  seven  years  he 
would  not  draw  sword  against  King  John.  But  even  to 
these  terms  the  other  would  in  no  wise  consent ;  and  the 
last  concession  that  could  be  wrung  from  him  was  to  the 
effect  that  only  on  the  absolute  surrender  of  the  Prince 
and  one  hundred  of  his  knights,  might  the  rest  pass  out 
free.  So  the  day  wore  away  till  eventide,  when  it  was 
known  to  either  host  that  they  might  rest  on  their  arms 
till  dawning. 

A  marvelous  contrast  would  one  have  seen  who  could 
have  looked  down  on  the  several  encampments.  Round 
the  pavilion  of  fair  red  silk,  wherein  King  John  lay,  were 
clustered  many  others  scarce  less  superb ;  plate  and  jew- 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  205 

els,  rich  furs,  gorgeous  panoplies,  and  golden  ornaments 
were  as  rife  as  though  the  great  vassals  had  mustered  for 
the  crowning  or  the  wedding  of  their  king ;  and  the  rich 
wines  and  meats  would  have  beseemed  a  court-banquet 
at  the  Louvre.  The  very  beasts  on  which  they  rode  were 
as  full  of  lustihood  as  their  lords,  and  more  than  one  pam- 
pered destrier  sniffed  disdainfully  at  provender  that 
would  have  been  a  boon  indeed  to  the  lean-flanked  Eng- 
lish chargers,  for  in  that  other  entrenchment  forage  was 
cruelly  short,  both  for  horses  and  men,  and  long  travel, 
no  less  than  short  rations,  had  begun  to  tell  wofully.  No 
marvel  if  the  Prince's  heart  was  heavy,  as  reckoning  up 
that  night,  every  lance,  spear,  and  bow  under  his  com- 
mand, he  counted  less  than  ten  thousand  men. 

But  in  such  times  of  trial  natures  like  his  show  their 
brightest  side.  Taking  their  pleasures  sadly,  and  too 
reserved  to  invite  the  sympathy  of  their  fellows,  in  the 
summer-glow  of  prosperity,  they  win  much  esteem,  but 
little  love ;  many  adherents,  but  few  friends.  Like  the 
Alpine  plants  that  thrive  best  on  the  verge  of  eternal 
snows,  they  show  their  softest  colors  when  all  the  horizon 
is  dark  and  fraught  with  storm.  So  far  as  we  can  judge 
from  the  rough  sketching  of  his  chroniclers,  a  very  sin- 
gular instance  of  this  temperament  was  found  in  Edward 
of  Wales.  A  soldier  to  the  marrow  of  his  bones,  he  never 
breathed  freely  in  the  luscious,  courtly  atmosphere ;  and, 
affecting  neither  austerity  nor  seclusion,  took  scant 
delight  in  pageant  or  pastime ;  furthermore,  it  is  averred, 
he  was  a  very  pattern  of  chastity.  Fair  Joan  of  Kent, 
though  they  were  wedded  at  the  last,  found,  perchance, 
rather  a  loyal  husband  than  an  ardent  wooer.  When  the 
light  of  battle  was  not  shining  on  his  face,  we  fancy  it 
grave  and  passionless,  as  it  looks  up  at  us  from  the  Can- 
terbury tomb,  touched,  too,  by  that  half-melancholy,  half- 
meditative  shadow,  which,  betokening  no  ill-health,  is 


206  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

oftenest  found,  say  physiognomists,  in  such  as  shall  die 
young. 

But  if  such  an  one  can  count  few  familiar  friends,  and 
fewer  boon  companions,  it  will  be  seen,  when  peril  grows 
urgent,  that  he  has  known  how  to  secure  the  whole  trust 
and  love  of  his  soldiery.  On  the  morrow  morning,  when 
the  last  negotiations  had  failed,  and  the  mediator  had 
departed  in  discomfiture,  there  was  not  one,  perchance, 
of  all  the  ten  thousand,  but  felt  his  heart  wax  warm  at 
the  hearing  of  that  famous  oration — so  simple,  and  ear- 
nest, and  fitting  the  time. 

"Now,  sirs,  though  we  be  but  a  small  company,  as  in 
regard  to  the  puissance  of  our  enemy,  let  us  not  be 
abashed  therefore.  For  the  victory  lieth  not  in  multitude 
of  people,  but  where  as  God  will  send  it.  If  it  chance 
that  the  day  shall  be  ours,  we  shall  be  the  most  honored 
of  all  in  this  world.  If  we  die  in  our  right  quarrel,  I 
have  the  king,  my  father,  and  brothers ;  also,  ye  have 
good  friends  and  kinsmen :  these  shall  avenge  us.  There- 
fore, I  require  you,  for  God's  sake,  to  do  your  devoirs 
this  day.  Also,  by  His  grace  and  Saint  George's,  I  trust 
well  to  bear  myself  as  a  good  knight" 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE  BATTLE. 

ET  it  must  not  be  inferred  that  in  the  English 
camp,  even  before  this,  despondency  prevailed. 
A  brief  discourse  that,  on  the  eve  of  battle, 
ensued  in  Sir  John  Hawkwood's  tent,  may  be 
taken  as  a  fair  ensample  of  the  temper  of  all. 

Quoth  the  knight  to  the  esquire: 

"By  the  Mass,  we  have  small  cause  to  thank  yon  lither- 
tongued  Cardinal.  With  all  his  peacemaking,  he  hath 
but  put  off  for  some  few  hours  what  had  better  been  done 
to-day.  Right  few  amongst  us  will  find  wherewith  to 
break  their  fast  to-morrow,  and  it  is  hard,  fighting  on  an 
empty  stomach.  Well,  I  trust  we  have  seen  the  last  of 
his  smooth  face,  when  there  is  men's  work  to  do,  I  like 
not  the  meddling  of  coif  or  cowl.  Now,  sith  battle  must 
needs  ensue,  how  thinkest  thou,  my  son,  it  will  fare  with 
us?" 

"Indifferent  ill,"  Brakespeare  answered,  carelessly, 
"An'  the  French  were  but  puppets,  with  swords  of  lath 
and  spears  of  reed,  they  could  scarce  fail  to  overbear  us 
by  mere  numbers,  for  a  man's  arm  must  needs  tire,  even 
with  quintain-play." 

"So  it  would  seem,"  Hawkwood  said ;  "yet  I  hold  not 
altogether  by  thine  opinion.  We  shall  fight  against 
shrewd  odds,  'tis  true;  nevertheless,  against  worse  thou 
didst  hold  thine  own  at  Hacquemont.  Wettest  thou 
why?  The  rascaille  could  not  bring  their  strength  to 


208  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

bear,  and  were  constrained  to  attack,  as  it  were,  singly. 
And  thus,  in  my  judgment,  it  may  fall  out  to-morrow. 
There  is  one  comfort  at  the  worst  for  thee  and  me:  if 
we  be  taken  alive,  beyond  our  harness,  horse  furniture, 
and  some  few  silver  coins,  we  have  naught  to  lose ;  and  it 
may  be  that  some  knights  of  substance  will  be  scarce 
wealthier  than  ourselves  when  they  have  been  put  to 
ransom.  Whereas,  if  against  hope  we  win  the  victory, 
there  will  be  other  booty  for  our  pains  than  the  spoiling  of 
poor  peasants  and  petty  traders ;  and  they  will  be  paid 
in  other  fashion  than  they  have  been  of  late.  Art  not 
aweary  of  these  petty  forays?" 

The  esquire  laughed  lightsomely. 

"I  spake  more  dolorously  than  I  felt,  but  now.  Since 
your  wisdom  is  thus  confident,  not  for  a  hundred  nobles 
would  I  barter  my  chance  to-morrow.  We  shall  have 
rare  sport,  whatever  befall,  and  'tis  full  time,  for  that  brief 
bout  at  Romorantin  scarce  brushed  the  rust  from  our 
blades.  Now,  if  your  worship  hath  no  further  commands 
for  me,  I  will  lie  me  down  for  a  while  for  mine  eyes  are 
somewhat  heavy." 

"Take  thy  rest,  my  son,"  the  other  answered.  "If  pro- 
vant  be  short,  there  is  less  reason  thou  should'st  stint 
thyself  of  slumber." 

Ten  minutes  later  Ralph  Brakespeare  was  sleeping  as 
soundly  as  ever  he  had  done  on  the  eve  of  merrymaking 
in  the  olden  time. 

Soon  after  sunrise,  thus,  on  either  side,  the  battle  was 
arrayed. 

The  French  were  ranged  in  three  battalions,  whereof 
the  first  was  led  by  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  brother  of  the 
King ;  the  second  by  Charles  of  Normandy,  the  Dauphin  ; 
the  third  by  John  himself.  The  Black  Prince  maintained 
much  the  same  order  as  that  in  which  De  Ribeaumont 
had  first  espied  him,  only  he  kept  some  of  the  choicest 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  209 

of  his  knights  mounted  in  the  rear  of  his  archers,  and 
sent  the  Captal  de  Buch,  with  six  hundred  lances,  to  skirt 
the  steep  mountain  rising  on  the  right,  with  orders  to 
fall  on  the  flank  of  the  enemy  when  he  saw  occasion.  So 
the  battle  began. 

In  front  of  Orleans'  division  advanced  the  Marshals 
d'Ancireghen  and  Clermont,  with  John  of  Nassau's  Ger- 
mans in  support,  intending  to  sweep  away  the  archers 
lining  the  hedges  and  vineyards  and  so  clear  the  way  for 
the  vanguard.  Scarce  an  English  bow-string  twanged, 
till  the  lane  was  thronged  with  enemies.  Then,  from  be- 
hind every  bush  and  briar,  sprang  up  a  stalwart  yeoman ; 
and  the  cloth-yard  shafts  hailed  down  without  stint  or 
stay,  searching  out  every  joint  in  the  harness,  and  pierc- 
ing plate  and  mail  like  silk  or  serge.  Soon  the  defile 
reeked  with  slaughter ;  and  over  the  uproar  rose  the  shrill 
sounds  of  brute  agony,  as  the  maddened  chargers  reared 
and  w  rithed  in  their  pain,  trampling  the  life  out  of  their 
fallen  masters,  and  spreading  disorder  to  the  rearward  in 
their  struggles  to  flee.  Scarce  a  tithe  of  those  who  had 
entered  forced  their  way  by  main  strength  to  the  further 
opening,  and  these  fared  no  better  than  their  fellows.  For 
there,  achieving  his  vow,  in  the  forefront  of  the  Prince's 
battalion,  James  of  Audley  made  stand ;  and  beyond  this 
the  assailants  won  never  a  foot  of  ground,  though  the 
contest  was  very  stubborn  and  hot,  for  the  French  fought, 
as  only  brave  men  will  fight  whose  retreat  is  barred. 
There  Arnold  d'Andreghen  was  stricken  down,  sorely 
wounded ;  and  there  the  question,  hotly  debated  but 
yesterday,  whether  Clermont  or  Chandos  had  the  best 
right  to  their  blazonry,  was  settled  for  evermore,  for  the 
valiant  marshal  was  down  under  the  horse-hoofs — the 
gay  surcoat  dabbled  with  his  life-blood.  By  this  time 
there  was  confusion  throughout  the  vanguard ;  and  the 
infection  of  disorder  began  to  spread  even  through  the 


210  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

second  division  of  the  Dauphin.  Whilst  these  last  were 
still  in  uncertainty  whether  to  advance  or  retire,  the  Cap- 
tal  de  Buch  came  full  on  their  flank  with  his  lances  and 
mounted  archers,  carrying  havoc  into  their  very  midst. 

In  this  charge  rode  Hawkwood  and  Brakespeare.  The 
esquire's  lance  was  broken  at  the  first  onset ;  but  he  so 
bestirred  himself  with  his  ponderous  mace  as  to  win 
especial  renown  where  many  bare  themselves  bravely, 
slaying  outright  not  a  few,  and  taking  prisoner  Yvon  de 
Montigni,  a  famous  knight  and  powerful  baron  of  Cham- 
pagne. 

The  Black  Prince  soon  became  aware  that  the  tide  of 
battle  had  fairly  turned ;  and,  divining  the  right  moment 
with  the  instinct  of  a  born  strategist,  caused  his  dis- 
mounted lances  to  get  speedily  to  saddle,  and  bade  his 
own  banner  advance.  Whilst  he  led  forward  his  divi- 
sion, but  before  they  actually  closed,  an  incident  hap- 
pened worth  recording  as  a  singular  trait  of  his  char- 
acter. 

Under  a  bush  on  his  right  lay  the  corpse  of  a  knight, 
richly  attired,  round  which  a  group  of  squires  and  archers 
were  gathered.  The  dead  man  was  none  other  than  Rob- 
ert of  Duras,  nephew  of  that  Talleyrand  de  Perigord, 
who,  but  three  hours  since,  had  spoken  so  fairly.  Ed- 
ward was  bitterly  wroth  at  what  he  held  to  be  a  visible 
sign  of  priestly  perfidy,  and  even  at  such  a  moment 
found  leisure  to  indulge  in  the  grim  irony  that  he  in- 
herited from  his  father. 

"Set  yon  corpse  on  a  shield" — he  said — "and  bear  it  to 
Poitiers,  as  a  gift  from  me  to  the  Lord  Cardinal,  saying 
that  I  salute  him  by  this  token." 

But  Chandos,  eager  for  the  onset  as  in  his  maiden 
battle,  chafed  and  murmured  aloud ;  and  the  prince  him- 
self spurred  on  more  sharply,  as  though  to  make  up  for 
the  delay,  till,  with  a  great  shock,  the  main  body  crossed 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  211 

spears  with  the  division  led  by  the  Duke  of  Athens,  High 
Constable  of  France.  Still  the  battle  waxed  hotter  and 
hotter ;  and  still  James  of  Audley  held  his  place  as  chief- 
est  of  the  English  worthies,  till,  from  weariness  and  loss 
of  blood,  he  could  no  longer  sit  in  the  saddle,  and  his 
esquires  drew  him  by  main  force  out  of  the  mellay,  for 
all  the  French  that  had  not  fled  with  Normandy  and  Or- 
leans were  fairly  engaged ;  and  Warwick  and  Suffolk 
could  barely  hold  their  own  against  the  battalion  com- 
manded by  King  John  in  person. 

Surely  Charles  Martel  himself,  when,  centuries  before, 
he  met  the  Saracen  on  nearly  the  same  ground,  though  he 
fought  with  better  fortune,  fought  not  more  gallantly. 
The  King  and  all  around  him  were  on  foot  and  round  that 
one  spot  swirled  the  main  eddy  of  the  battle ;  and  still 
John  swayed  his  great  battle-axe,  never  dreaming,  as  it 
seemed,  of  surrender,  though  foes  grew  thicker  and 
friends  thinner  about  him  every  instant  and  though  the 
reddest  blood  of  France  was  flowing  at  his  feet.  For 
Bourbon,  Athens,  Chalons,  and  Beaujeu  were  down ;  and 
Eustace  de  Ribeaumont  cloven  to  the  brain-pan,  through 
the  chaplet  of  pearls ;  and  out  of  Geoffrey  de  Chargny's 
cold  hand  the  banner  of  France  had  fallen.  But  the 
strength,  even  of  dispair,  must  needs  have  an  ending ; 
moreover,  the  press  was  so  close  that  it  became  scarce 
possible  to  wield  weapon  ;  so  John  did  at  last  yield.  His 
cousin  of  Wales,  for  whom  he  cried  in  his  distress,  was 
far  out  of  hearing ;  and  Denis  de  Morbecque,  an  exiled 
knight  of  Artois,  had  the  honor  of  the  surrender.  Not 
long  after,  Warwick  and  Cobham  came  up  to  disperse  the 
wrangling  crowd  and  to  lead  the  prisoner,  with  all  due 
honor,  before  Edward,  who,  when  he  saw  the  day  was 
fairly  won,  after  discomfiting  the  Germans,  had  waited 
to  slake  his  own  thirst  and  to  see  to  the  staunching  of 
James  of  Audlcy's  wounds. 


212  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

Thus  was  achieved  this  notable  victory  wherein  the 
flower  of  French  chivalry  was  cut  down  like  grass  be- 
fore the  scythe,  and  prisoners  were  taken  outnumbering 
their  captors  twofold.  It  is  not  hard  to  fancy  what  was- 
sail prevailed  throughout  that  night  on  the  plain  of  Mau- 
pertuis ;  in  the  pavilion,  where  the  conqueror  waited 
duteously  on  the  vanquished  King,  consoling  him  the 
while  with  such  kind  and  gracious  words  as  moved  some 
who  heard  them  to  weeping ;  in  the  tents,  where  knights 
and  esquires  made  merry ;  and  under  green  boughs, 
where  stout  yeomen  made  amends  for  their  three  days' 
fast  on  rich  cates  and  wines. 

Hawkwood  himself  was  moved  beyond  his  wonted 
staid  sobriety.  Setting  aside  his  share  of  booty,  he  had 
acquired  prisoners  enow  to  make  him  wealthy  with  their 
ransoms  beyond  his  hopes ;  indeed,  in  the  general  panic, 
chroniclers  say,  five  or  six  knights  or  esquires  would 
yield  themselves  to  a  common  English  archer.  Yet  none 
of  Hawkwood's  prisoners  matched  in  importance  the 
knights  vanquished  by  Ralph  Brakespeare.  The  esquire 
could  scarcely  refrain  from  showing  surprise,  when  Yvon 
de  Montigni  proffered  for  his  freedom  four  thousand 
crowns  to  be  paid  at  Bordeaux  by  Christmas-tide.  But 
he  was  thrice  as  joyful  when  on  the  morrow  he  was  bid- 
den to  kneel  amongst  a  score  of  others,  and,  at  the  hands 
of  the  Black  Prince  himself,  received  the  accolade. 

Cautiously  and  slowly,  cumbered  with  the  pleasant 
burden  of  fresh-gotten  wealth,  the  English  host  moved 
southwards ;  and,  neither  molesting  nor  molested,  passed 
through  Poitou  and  Saintonge,  till  they  crossed  the  Ga- 
ronne, and  found  jubilant  welcome  at  Bordeaux.  Not  a 
few  of  all  ranks  obtained  furlough  there,  and  crossed 
the  seas  for  England,  there  to  bestow  safely  their  booty 
and  treasure.  Amongst  these,  neither  Brakespeare  nor 
Hawkwood  was  numbered;  but  the  first-named  sent 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  213 

Lanyon, — now  regularly  attached  to  his  person  as  body- 
squire, — to  bear  a  message  to  his  father,  and  gold  enough 
to  keep  Gillian,  his  foster-mother  in  comfort  thenceforth, 
should  she  live  to  five  score. 

The  meanest  archer  who  fought  at  Poitiers  found  him- 
self courted  and  honored,  in  some  degree,  by  the  quiet 
people  at  home ;  and  Lanyon,  when  he  reached  Bcver, 
was  no  worse  treated  than  his  fellows.  Cicely,  the  tan- 
ner's blue-eyed  daughter,  a  buxom  matron  now,  looked 
somewhat  disdainfully  on  the  stalwart  smith,  whom  she 
had  been  till  now  content  to  honor ;  and  long  afterwards, 
in  domestic  squabbles,  was  apt  to  be  severe  on  the  lub- 
bards  who  were  content  to  spend  their  strength  in  forg- 
ing iron  for  better  men  to  wield. 

Sir  Simon  Dynevor's  dreary  face  lighted  up  for  an 
instant  as  he  broke  the  seal  of  his  son's  missive ;  but  it 
grew  darker  and  drearier  than  ever  before  he  had  read  it 
through.  The  letter  said  no  word  of  return ;  and  he 
guessed  rightly  it  was  meant  for  an  absolutely  final  fare- 
well. 

Whilst  Lanyon  abode  at  Bever,  he  was  daily  summoned 
into  the  knight's  presence,  and  questioned  until  he  had 
told  all,  even  to  the  minutest  incident,  that  had  befallen 
his  master ;  and  at  his  departure  after  no  long  tarrying — 
for  the  esquire  was  evidently  uneasy  on  English  ground — 
he  bore  away  not  only  ample  guerdon  for  himself,  but  a 
gold  chain,  an  heir-loom  of  the  Dynevors,  which  Sir 
Simon  prayed  Ralph  Brakespeare  to  wear  for  his  sake. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A     TRIAL     FOR     SORCERY. 

LL  that  winter  at  Bordeaux  was  one  long  carni- 
val ;  and  French  gold  flowed  like  water 
through  the  rough  hands  that  had  fought  so 
well  to  win  it;  but  Ralph  Brakespeare  wasted 
neither  his  health  nor  his  substance  in  such  riotous  fash- 
ion— nay,  in  some  respects,  he  bore  himself  more  soberly 
than  heretofore.  Mere  vulgar  debauchery  seemed  to  have 
less  temptation  for  him  than  ever ;  and,  if  Marguerite  de 
Hacquemont's  last  gift  was  not  a  perfect  safeguard 
against  sin,  it  was  at  least  never  defiled  by  touch  of 
riband es'  fingers,  or  mocked  at  by  drunken  soudards. 
Ralph  was  found  in  John  Hawkwood's  company  nearly 
as  often  as  before  their  positions  were  changed  ;  and  those 
two  acting  in  concert,  with  the  aid  of  an  established  repu- 
tation and  ample  bounty,  soon  contrived  to  gather  round 
their  pennons  no  insignificant  following  of  lances.  It 
was,  indeed,  the  nucleus  of  one  of  those  Free  Companies 
which,  ere  long,  acquired  such  a  terrible  reputation 
throughout  central  and  western  Europe.  For  the  better 
understanding  of  these  matters,  it  may  be  worth  while  to 
glance  at  the  aspect  of  the  times  and  the  condition  of 
France. 

In  the  spring  of  1357,  the  Black  Prince  sailed  for 
England  with  his  state  prisoner,  having  pacified  his 
greedy  Gascons  with  many  florins  and  more  fair  words, 
besides  committing  the  province  in  his  absence  to  four  of 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  215 

their  great  barons.  All  this  while  the  Dauphin  was  in 
Paris,  making  head,  as  best  he  could,  against  the  sore 
troubles  that  visited  him.  He  was  marvelously  patient, 
politic,  'and  persevering  for  his  years,  and  might  even 
then  have,  not  inaptly,  been  surnamed  "The  Wise" ;  yet 
it  was  weary  work  for  such  young  hands  to  steer  so 
great  a  ship  through  such  troublous  waters.  The  three 
States-General,  on  their  meeting,  instead  of  seeking  to 
stay  up  the  tottering  sovereignty,  sought  to  wring  con- 
cessions from  its  weakness,  clamoring  not  only  for  re- 
dress of  injuries  and  lightening  of  burdens,  but  also  for 
the  punishment  of  alleged  misdoers.  Neither  were  the 
walls  of  Creve-cceur  thick  enough  to  prevent  the  arch- 
plotter,  who  lay  in  durance  there,  from  fomenting  dis- 
loyalty. Even  before  his  escape,  each  measure  of  sedi- 
tion might  have  been  traced  to  Charles  of  Navarre ;  and 
Provost  Marcel,  his  pupil  and  tool,  was  not  long  behind 
his  master  either  in  insolence  or  ambition.  There  was  a 
brief  cheering  gleam,  when  Raoul  de  Renneval  and  the 
knights  of  Artois  encountered  Godcfroi  de  Harcourt  near 
Coutances,  and  routing  him  utterly,  brought  away  that 
valiant  rebel's  head ;  then  the  darkness  gathered  again. 
In  Paris  all  was  discord  and  broil,  till  anarchy  came  to 
its  climax  on  the  day  when  the  Palais  de  Justice  was 
stormed  by  Marcel  and  his  Blue-caps,  and  the  Dauphin's 
robe  was  sprinkled  with  the  blood  of  his  marshals.  But, 
though  all  the  horizon  looked  threatening,  there  was  a 
tempest  just  then  rising  over  the  rim  compared  to  which 
all  other  troubles  were  as  spring-showers  to  the  hurricane. 
The  peasantry  of  France  were  becoming  maddened 
with  misery.  Ten  following  years  had  been  years  of 
famine,  for  none  cared  to  cast  in  seed  that  should  be 
trampled,  ere  it  grew  ripe,  by  English  horse-hoofs,  or  to 
press  grapes  for  wine  to  slake  the  thirst  of  Free  Com- 
panion or  forayer ;  and  all  this  while  their  lords  relaxed 


216  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

not  one  jot  of  tyranny,  requiring  the  full  tale  of  bricks, 
though  not  a  straw-blade  was  left  in  the  land.  Further- 
more, with  hatred  there  had  of  late  mingled  some  germs 
of  contempt.  If  the  villein  had  no  love,  he  had,  per- 
chance, less  respect  for  the  baron,  who  was  forward 
enough  to  back  his  bailiff  with  the  strong  hand,  but  rode 
fast  to  the  rear  when  his  king  was  beset  at  Poitiers.  And 
so  came  the  Jacquerie. 

The  deeds  enacted  in  that  awful  time,  from  the  recital 
of  which  the  good  Canon  Froissart  shrank,  concern  us 
not;  it  was  chiefly  in  the  northern  provinces  that  the 
pest  raged ;  and  its  infection  spread  not  far  south  of  the 
Loire.  How  the  spirit  of  partisanship  for  a  while  was 
forgotten ;  how  Flanders  and  Hainault  rode  side  by  side 
with  Picardy  and  Artois  to  their  vengeance ;  how 
Charles  the  Wise  showed  himself  not  more  relentless 
against  the  murderous  ravishers  than  Charles  of  Navarre ; 
how  Gaston  de  Foix  and  the  Captal  de  Buch,  returning 
from  the  German  crusade,  couched  their  lances  against  a 
foe  fouler  than  the  Moslem,  under  the  walls  of  Meaux ; 
how,  from  dawning  till  the  sun  was  low,  the  carnage  went 
on,  till  the  lanes  round  Marne  were  choked  with  corpses, 
and  every  meadow-nook  outside  was  heaped  with  dead ; 
how  the  stillness  of  utter  desolation  settled  down  at  length 
on  the  nakedness  of  the  land — all  these  things  are  matter 
for  a  world's  history,  not  for  such  a  chronicle  as  ours. 

After  Stephen  Marcel  paid  for  fresh  treachery  with 
his  life,  Paris  had  once  more  sullenly  returned  to  her  al- 
legiance, and  the  first  act  of  the  States-General,  meeting 
there  under  the  presidency  of  the  Dauphin,  was  to  dis- 
allow the  treaty  signed  by  John  in  captivity.  So  once 
more  Picardy,  Champagne,  Lorraine,  and  Burgundy  felt 
the  scourge,  whilst  King  Edward  marched  through  the 
unhappy  country  at  the  head  of  a  mightier  host  than  had 
ever  yet  followed  him  till  he  became  weary  of  waiting; 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  217 

and,  half  from  policy,  half  from  superstition — for,  say 
the  annals,  his  vow  to  our  Lady  of  Chartres  was  made  in 
the  midst  of  hail  and  thunder — he  consented  at  Bretigny 
to  terms  of  peace. 

During  the  last  few  months,  whilst  a  form  of  truce 
still  endured,  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  restless 
spirits  in  the  southwest  kept  themselves  peaceably  with- 
in bounds.  Even  before  the  Free  Companions  drew  to- 
gether in  formidable  armaments,  not  a  few  essayed  ad- 
ventures for  their  own  profit  or  pleasure  on  a  smaller  or 
larger  scale. 

In  the  garrison  at  Bordeaux  there  had  arisen  some 
heart-burning  and  jealousy ;  for  the  Black  Prince's  lieu- 
tenants were  too  apt  to  favor  their  own  countrymen,  and 
on  slight  encouragement  Gascons  will  wax  overweening. 
Amongst  the  malcontents,  albeit  they  showed  no  sign 
thereof,  were  Hawkwood  and  Brakespeare.  Though 
neither  murmured  nor  showed  outward  discontent,  the 
state  of  things  pleased  neither ;  and  one  summer  day,  with 
scant  ceremony  or  leave-taking,  for  even  then  the  leaders 
of  companies  such  as  theirs  were  beginning  to  act  in- 
dependently, they  marched  out  of  Bordeaux,  under  pre- 
text of  checking  certain  marauders  on  the  French  side, 
who  were,  in  truth,  beginning  to  be  troublesome  some 
score  of  leagues  higher  up  the  Garonne. 

Whatsoever  was  their  real  purpose,  it  suited  not  there- 
with that  they  should  abide  in  towns  or  large  hamlets ;  so 
they  rode  steadily  forward  through  Carillac,  Macaire,  and 
La  Raoul  till,  on  the  second  night,  they  came  to  a  Bene- 
dictine convent,  a  dependence  of  the  huge  monastery  in 
the  last-named  town,  and  sought  shelter  there.  To  such 
guests  the  Prior  feared  to  be  otherwise  than  hospitable ; 
so  he  received  them,  with  great  show  of  alacrity,  and, 
after  some  contrivance,  room  was  found  for  both  men  and 
horses  within  the  walls. 


2i8  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

From  youth  upwards,  as  you  know,  Brakcspeare  had 
cherished  scant  love  or  reverence  for  hood  or  cowl,  and 
in  his  present  quarters  he  felt  strangely  ill  at  ease.  In- 
deed, at  the  evening  meal  he  bore  himself  so  gloomily, 
not  to  say  sullenly,  that  Hawkwood,  who  seldom  con- 
cerned himself  with  others'  humor,  marvelled  thereat, 
and  at  last  was  fain  to  ask  the  cause.  But  Ralph  replied, 
curtly  that,  "Nothing  ailed  him ;  only  that  he  had  more 
mind  for  sleep  than  for  meat  or  drink" ;  and  so  betook 
himself  to  his  chamber,  whither  Lanyon,  who  was  to 
share  it,  soon  followed.  They  were  lodged  immediately 
under  Hawkwood,  on  the  ground-floor  of  a  round  tower 
overlooking  the  private  garden  of  the  Prior. 

Despite  his  alleged  drowsiness,  his  couch  did  not  seem 
to  tempt  Brakespeare.  After  being  disarmed  by  his 
esquire,  he  advised  him  to  "sleep  while  he  might,  for  they 
would  march  at  daybreak" ;  yet  he  himself  lay  not  down, 
and,  leaning  his  arms  on  the  window-sill,  looked  out 
moodily  into  the  night.  Lanyon  was  in  dreamland  al- 
most before  his  head  touched  the  pallet,  but,  from  long 
training  of  bivouac,  he  slept  as  lightly  as  a  girl,  and 
sprang  up  alertly  an  hour  or  so  later  at  the  touch  of  a 
hand  upon  his  shoulder.  It  was  not  so  dark,  but  that 
traces  of  strong  emotion  were  visible  on  Brakespeare's 
face. 

"Come  hither" — he  said,  pointing  to  the  open  lattice — 
"and  look  out  and  listen,  keeping  well  in  the  shadow." 

According  to  his  wont,  the  esquire  did  as  as  he  was 
bidden  without  question,  and  Ralph,  too,  knelt  down  in 
the  embrasure. 

On  one  side  of  the  garden,  at  right  angles  to  the  towtr, 
rose  a  heavy  pile  of  building,  in  the  upper  story  of  which 
was  the  Prior's  private  lodging.  There  was  no  sign  of 
life  or  habitation  therein,  save  a  gleam  of  dusky  red  light 
just  clearing  the  level  of  the  soil,  evidently  slanting  up- 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  219 

wards  from  some  underground  chamber.  As  they 
listened,  there  came  through  the  stillness  a  smothered 
murmur  of  voices,  and  then  a  sound,  too  piteously  signifi- 
cant to  be  mistaken,  the  moan  of  a  woman  in  extremity 
of  terror  or  pain.  As  Lanyon  recoiled  instinctively,  Ralph 
muttered  close  to  his  ear — 

"Hearest  thou  that? — /  heard  it  before  I  waked  thee. 
Canst  thou  guess  what  deviltry  yon  shavelings  are  about 
to-night  ?  Nay,  nor  I.  But,  by  Saint  Giles !  I  will  know 
ere  long.  Follow  thou  me.  A  child  might  leap  hence  into 
the  garden  ;  and  we  will  make  shift  to  climb  back,  I  trow." 

Both  were  lightly  clad  in  jerkin  and  hosen,  and  carried 
no  arms  save  a  dagger.  Descending  quickly  and  noise- 
less!}', they  crept  on  till  they  crouched  down  by  the  low 
window,  from  which  the  light  streamed.  Though  un- 
glazed,  it  was  guarded  by  a  grating,  so  close  that  light 
and  air  had  some  work  to  pass.  Nevertheless,  it  served 
Brakespeare's  purpose ;  and  this  is  what  he  saw. 

The  chamber  was  not  lofty,  but  so  spacious  that  four 
flambeaux  fixed  in  iron  sockets  in  the  walls  and  a  huge 
iron  lamp  swung  in  the  center,  left  the  furthermost  part, 
beyond  a  row  of  supporting  pillars,  in  deep  shadow. 
From  the  wall  opposite  the  window  ran  out  a  broad  stone 
ledge,  like  a  dais.  On  this,  in  rude  arm-chairs,  the  center 
one  of  which  was  somewhat  higher  than  the  others,  and 
had  some  pretensions  to  ornament,  sate  three  Benedictine 
monks.  Two  of  these  were  strangers  to  Brakespeare, 
but  in  the  chief  he  recognized  the  Prior.  At  a  table 
immediately  in  front  of  these,  set  not  far  below  the  dais, 
a  man  dressed  in  the  long  robe  and  square  coif  affected 
by  lawyers,  was  reading  out,  in  a  quick  monotonous  voice, 
some  documents  that  he  had  recently  been  copying ;  on 
some  the  ink  was  scarcely  dry.  A  trial  of  some  sort  was 
evidently  proceeding,  and  the  accused  could  be  no  other 
than  the  woman  crouching  low,  in  shame  or  terror,  be- 


220  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

twixt  her  guards.  Her  face  was  bowed  in  her  hands,  but, 
even  in  that  ungraceful  posture,  the  rare  grace  of  her 
lithe  figure,  and  the  perfect  contour  of  every  limb,  could 
not  be  dissembled.  When  she  suddenly  looked  up,  un- 
covering her  face,  Ralph  was  fairly  startled  by  its  loveli- 
ness, utterly  unlike,  if  not  excelling,  anything  he  had  seen 
in  all  his  wanderings.  The  complexion  was  by  nature 
dazzlingly  fair,  though  the  peach  blossom  of  the  soft 
cheek  was  blanched  now ;  but,  in  all  other  respects,  there 
was  an  oriental  stamp  on  her  beauty.  The  long,  lan- 
guishing eyes,  the  whites  of  which  were  strongly  tinged 
with  blue,  shaded  by  wealth  of  trailing  lashes  ;  the  smooth, 
fine  hair,  that  flashed  back  the  torchlight  like  polished  jet ; 
the  fall,  delicate  mouth,  and  crimson  lips,  so  apt  to  mold 
themselves  into  a  mutinous  smile,  spoke  plainly  enough 
of  redder  and  richer  blood  than  flows  in  the  veins  of 
Japheth's  descendants.  There  was  as  much  of  petulance, 
as  of  contrition  or  appeal  in  the  gesture,  as  she  wrung  her 
slender  white  hands,  gazing  eagerly  in  the  faces  of  her 
judges.  In  two  of  those  faces  there  was  nothing  re- 
markable. 

The  Prior  was  a  portly,  pompous  churchman,  rather 
benevolent-looking  than  otherwise,  though,  by  virtue  of 
his  office,  he  bore  himself  austerely ;  and  the  round,  rubi- 
cund visage  on  his  left,  betokened  no  worse  vices  than 
indulgence  and  love  of  luxury.  But  the  countenance  of 
the  right  hand  monk  was  one  of  those,  not  pleasant  to 
remember,  and  therefore  not  easily  forgotten.  Sallow 
and  atrabilious,  its  pallor  none  would  impute  to  fast  or 
vigil,  even  if  the  heavy  animal  jaw,  and  cruel,  sensual 
mouth,  had  not  told,  that  if  ever  such  an  one  achieved 
saintliness,  it  would  be  at  the  cost  of  many  hard  battles 
with  the  lusts  of  the  flesh.  In  his  eyes  there  was  no  calm, 
judicial  severity;  but  rather  such  a  fierce  eagerness  as 
springs  from  unslaked  desire,  or  bitter  hate ;  also,  it. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  221 

might  be  noted  that  when  the  prisoner's  appealing  glances 
roved  all  around,  they  never  dwelt,  even  for  an  instant, 
on  this  man's  face. 

The  whole  scene  seemed  to  Brakespeare  a  ghastly 
mockery.  He  could  scarce  bring  himself  to  believe  that 
the  three  solemn  judges,  and  their  busy  legal  assessor, 
and  the  four  armed  guards,  to  say  nothing  of  the  other 
figures  grouped  in  the  dim  background,  were  all  required 
to  deal  with  a  frail  girl,  no  more  fit  for  rough  handling 
than  a  May-fly.  He  looked  on,  and  listened,  like  one  in  a 
dream.  There  was  a  brief  pause,  after  the  man  of  law 
had  finished  reading;  then  the  Prior  spoke,  clearing  his 
throat:  importantly. 

"Thou,  whom  men  call  La  Mauricaulde — some  time 
novice  in  the  nunnery  of  Mount  Carmel,  but  having 
escaped  thence  at  prompting  of  Sathanas,  if  not  by  his 
actual  aid — thou  knowest  well  wherefore  thou  art  now 
set  on  trial ;  and  hast  heard  what  these  have  witnessed 
against  thee.  Such  testimony  it  avails  not  to  deny ; 
neither  may  thy  life  be  in  any  wise  excused,  whereby,  not 
scandal  alone,  but  great  damage  hath  been  wrought.  For 
do  wre  not  know  how,  having  once  drunken  of  the  cup  of 
thy  witcheries,  divers  of  all  stations  have  set  at  naught, 
not  only  their  fair  repute,  but  all  duties  of  religion  ;  so  that 
finally,  being  wasted  away  in  mind  and  body,  no  less  than 
in  substance,  they  have  died  miserably,  rather  like  mis- 
creants than  chrissom  men?  Also,  by  trustworthy  wit- 
ness it  hath  been  averred  that  thou  hast  been  seen  in  full 
practise  of  thy  accursed  enchantments.  Hath  not  Guil- 
laume  Chapellier,  sexton  of  La  Marmoude,  made  oath, 
that  he  watched  thee  in  the  graveyard  at  such  work  as 
these  lips  of  mine  shall  not  be  defiled  by  rehearsing?  And 
did  not  Antoine  Tournon,  returning  home  by  night,  see 
thee  pass  overhead  through  the  air,  borne  on  some  devil- 
ish creature,  the  likeness  of  which  he  could  not  set  forth 


222  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

for  his  extreme  fear?  Now,  therefore,  I  adjure  thee,  in 
the  name  of  the  most  Holy  Trinity,  to  make  full  confes- 
sion, if  the  familiar  spirit  by  which,  as  I  well  believe,  thou 
art  possessed,  will  suffer  thee  to  speak.  So,  though  thy 
life  be  forfeit,  may  some  pain  be  spared  to  thy  sinful 
body,  and  peradventure  some  profit  may  accrue  to  thy 
more  sinful  soul." 

The  girl — she  was  scarce  yet  in  the  prime  of  woman- 
hood— rose  up,  smoothing  her  hair  from  her  brow  with 
her  soft,  white  fingers.  The  action  was  simply  mechan- 
ical, its  lithe  dexterity  suggesting  long  use  of  the  mirror. 
Her  voice  trembled,  so  that  at  first  it  was  scarcely  audible, 
but  gradually  it  slid  into  such  melody  as  Ralph  had  never 
listened  to,  and  a  marked  foreign  accent  only  added  to 
its  charm. 

"Ah,  reverend  Father,  be  patient — if  not  merciful. 
There  are  none  to  witness  on  my  behalf ;  and,  could  I  find 
words,  fear  hath  left  me  no  strength  to  plead.  Freely 
will  I  confess  that  for  years  past,  since  under  the  robe  of 
a  priest  now  dead,  and  under  cover  of  the  night,  I  had 
escaped  from  the  good  Carmelites,  I  have  led  life  of  cour- 
tisane.  Also,  may  I  not  deny  that  for  my  poor  sake  sub- 
stance hath  been  wasted  and  some  blood  shed.  Yet  not 
seldom  did  I  refuse  gifts  thrust  upon  me,  rather  than 
impoverish  my  lovers ;  and  when  any  of  such  came  to 
hurt,  or  fell  into  sore  sickness,  none  bemoaned  them  more 
than  I.  Sore  hath  been  my  shame  and  sin:  yet — if  ye 
will  hear  the  truth — sore  have  been  my  temptations.  The 
blood  of  our  race  flows  never  tamely  or  orderly,  either  in 
love  or  malice ;  and,  though  of  malice  against  any  I  am 
free,  I  have  ever  been  too  apt  to  love.  Rightly  have  men 
called  me  La  Mauricaulde,  for  of  Moresco  parents  was 
I  born,  and  from  them  was  I  taken  by  the  Baron  of 
Rocheguyon  and  his  dame,  since  defunct,  who,  thinking 
to  do  a  deed  of  charity,  would  have  me  baptized,  being 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  223 

then  ten  years  old,  and  nurtured  me  till  I  entered  on  my 
noviciate.  Now,  for  all  these  sins  of  mine  am  I  willing 
to  do  such  penance  as  your  reverend  wisdom  shall  ad- 
judge ;  and  of  all  the  wealth  that  hath  accrued  to  me  will 
I  make  free  gift  to  your  Order,  craving  only  leave  to  be 
let  go  forth  on  my  way  barefoot,  so  that  none  dwelling 
hereabouts  shall  look  on  my  face  again." 

"Nay" — said  the  Prior,  sternly,  yet  not  so  harshly  as 
he  had  spoken  before — "  'tis  too  late  now  for  such  prof- 
fers. Thy  goods,  no  less  than  thy  life,  are  already  for- 
feited. Nor  is  this  full  confession.  Thou  hast  said 
naught  of  the  arts  and  enchantments  by  which  thou  hast 
wrought ;  nor  of  the  familiar  by  which,  as  we  believe, 
thou  art  possessed." 

She  shrugged  her  round,  white  shoulders,  in  a  sort  of 
pettish  despair,  and  her  delicate  mouth  began  to  pout. 

"Alas !  I  have  used  no  worse  witcheries  than  men  find 
elsewhere  in  bright  eyes  and  red  lips  and  white  hands. 
Neither  have  I  been  possessed  by  any  other  devil  than  He 
who  tempts  all  frail  womankind.  Maitre  Guillaume 
Chapellier  must  have  had  an  evil  dream.  Not  for  a  car- 
canet  of  rubies  would  I  set  foot  in  graveyard  after  sun- 
down. When  Antoine  Tournon,  the  fisherman,  brought 
me  his  ware,  his  eyes  were  often  heavy  with  wine ;  he 
must  have  drained  many  a  broc,  that  night  he  saw  me  fly 
across  Garonne.  I  have  never  been  mounted  on  aught 
lighter  of  foot  than  Blanchefleur,  my  fair  palfrey,  who 
will  never  feed  from  my  hand  again.  Surely  your  wis- 
dom will  not  listen  to  such  idle  tales.  If  ye  press  me  to 
death  never  so  hardly,  I  can  confess  no  more.  Father 
Ignace  knows " 

Here,  for  the  first  time,  the  girl  looked  full  at  the  Bene- 
dictine sitting  on  the  right.  The  monk's  cheek  reddened, 
not  in  a  single  healthy  flush,  but  in  irregular  patches ;  and 
his  eyes  too  waxed  bloodshot. 


224  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

"Why  callest  them  on  me?"  he  said  hoarsely.  "I  know 
naught  more  than  others  of  thine  accursed  sorceries. 
Speak  out,  and  let  us  hear  what  falsity  the  Succubus 
within  thee  will  utter  through  thy  lips." 

His  savage  glance  made  the  girl  cower  like  the  lash 
of  a  whip.  She  was  too  frightened  to  use  her  vantage,  if 
any  she  possessed. 

"I  meant  nothing,"  she  murmured ;  "only  I — I  thought 
— I  hoped : 

And  her  voice  died  away  in  quick,  convulsive  sobbing, 
whilst  her  head  drooped  on  her  hands  again.  The  Prior, 
turning  his  head,  looked  somewhat  doubtfully  at  either 
of  his  assistants,  like  a  man  who,  having  determined  on 
a  disagreeable  duty,  would  not  be  sorry  to  have  it  gain- 
said. 

"Since  the  accused,  or,  rather,  the  demon  clothed  in 
her  flesh,  is  obdurate" — he  said — '"we  have  no  choice  but 
to  apply  the  uttermost  question." 

Both  gave  assent,  but  in  a  different  fashion  ;  the  one 
with  reluctance  more  evident  even  than  that  of  his  supe- 
rior, the  other  with  absolute  eagerness.  The  Prior  beck- 
oned with  his  hand,  and  out  of  the  shadow  behind  the 
pillars  four  men,  dressed  in  close  black  jerkins  that  left 
the  arms  and  legs  bare,  came  forward ;  two  of  whom 
took  each  a  flambeau  from  the  wall,  whilst  the  others  laid 
hands  on  the  prisoner's  shoulder.  At  the  first  touch  the 
girl  shivered,  as  though  in  an  ague-fit,  but  let  them  lead 
her  away  without  resistance.  The  three  judges,  too, 
arose  and  followed ;  and  the  eyes  of  those  without  fol- 
lowed too. 

In  the  dark  recess  there  was  fixed  an  engine,  the  use 
of  which  Brakespeare  knew  at  once,  though  it  was  the 
first  time  he  had  looked  upon  a  rack.  The  torches  made 
the  place  so  light,  that  he  lost  none  of  the  preliminaries 
of  the  torture.  He  saw  the  questionnaires  tear  off  the 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  225 

girl's  garments  roughly,  till  she  stood  almost  as  Phryne 
before  the  Areophagites ;  he  saw  the  face  of  the  Benedic- 
tine, called  Ignace,  swollen  with  passion,  as  his  eyes 
gloated  on  the  nude  beauty,  with  an  eagerness  that 
could  not  be  mistaken  now ;  he  saw  the  needless  violence 
with  which  the  victim  was  prostrated  and  bound.  Ralph 
closed  his  eyes  here,  and  a  cold  sweat,  breaking  out  on 
his  brow,  rained  down  on  his  face.  Then  there  came  the 
creaking  of  pulleys,  then  a  terrible  shriek,  then  another, 
smothered,  as  though  it  came  through  a  gag ;  then  utter 
silence.  And  the  Prior's  voice,  so  hoarse  and  changed 
that  none  would  have  known  it,  said : 

"Devil  or  no  devil,  I  can  endure  no  more  of  this.  Set 
her  loose :  see  you  not  she  has  fainted  ?  And  clothe  her 
decently  again,  in  Christ's  name." 

When  Ralph  looked  once  more,  the  three  monks  had 
resumed  their  seats  and  were  conferring  in  an  undertone. 
At  last  the  Prior  spoke  aloud  to  the  scribe : — 

"Jehan ;  write  that  we,  the  sworn  judges  here  present 
— to  wit,  Aldobrand,  Prior  of  the  Order  of  St.  Benedict 
at  La  Meilleraye ;  Ignatius,  Sub-prior ;  and  Paul, 
Almoner  of  that  same  house — have  heard  the  testimony 
urged  against  the  woman  of  loose  life  called  La  Mauri- 
caulde,  dwelling  for  six  years  past  at  the  manoir  of  Ver- 
gerac,  suspected  on  good  ground  of  dealing  with  the 
Evil  One,  or  of  actual  possession  by  a  familiar  spirit. 
Furthermore,  that,  having  failed  in  bringing  to  full  con- 
fession the  said  accused,  we  did,  in  our  presence,  cause 
to  be  applied  the  extreme  torture  of  the  question,  and 
that  the  accused  swooned  thereunder  without  having 
given  intelligible  word  or  sign.  Wherefore  we,  the  said 
justiciaries,  not  deeming  that  our  powers  extend  even 
unto  death,  have  judged  it  better  to  proceed  no  further ; 
but  to  send  the  said  prisoner,  under  a  safe  escort,  to  Agen, 
there  to  be  dealt  with  as  it  shall  seem  fit  to  our  Lord  the 


226  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

Bishop,  High  Justiciary  of  this  province.  Whereto  we 
set  our  several  hands  and  seals." 

Whilst  this  was  being  completed,  low  moans  were 
heard  in  the  recess,  and  one  of  the  questionnaires  came 
forward. 

"The  prisoner  hath  revived,  Monseigneur.  How  is  it 
your  pleasure  she  shall  be  dealt  with?" 

"See  her  well  guarded  to  her  cell" — the  Prior  answered 
— "and  let  Brother  Cyril,  the  mediciner,  attend  her  there. 
She  must  needs  find  strength  for  travel  ere  noon  to-mor- 
row. It  were  better  that  thou,  Brother  Ignace,  should 
see  to  this ;  and,  perforce,  thou  must  ride  with  the  escort 
to  Agen.  As  for  me,  I  will  to  my  chamber,  for  I  feel  so 
strangely  ill  at  ease,  that,  lacking  fresh  air  and  a  cup  of 
wine,  I  fear  to  swoon." 

Ralph  Brakespeare  had  seen  and  heard  enough.  He 
did  not  wait  to  watch  the  half-fainting  figure  carried 
away  by  the  gaolers ;  but  strode  back  swiftly  through  the 
garden  till  he  came  under  the  window  of  his  chamber. 
There,  not  trusting  himself  to  speak,  he  motioned  to 
Lanyon  to  stoop,  and,  setting  his  foot  on  the  esquire's 
broad  shoulders,  swung  himself  through  the  lattice. 
Then  he  let  down  his  sword-belt,  and  with  it  drew  up 
Lanyon  after  him.  When  they  were  both  within,  said 
Ralph  in  a  whisper — 

"Tarry  thou  here,  and  watch  or  sleep  if  thou  wilt.  I 
go  to  speak  with  Sir  John  Hawkwood." 

The  sights  and  sounds  that  wrought  so  potently  on 
Brakespeare  and  his  esquire  had,  it  seemed,  in  no  wise 
affected  those  who  rested  above,  for  all  was  perfectly 
still  there,  till  Ralph  laid  his  hand  on  the  latch.  But  be- 
fore he  raised  it,  Hawkwood's  quick  imperious  tones 
were  heard  from  within. 

"Curzon!  Peter  Curzon!  up  with  thee,  and  see  who 
tries  the  door." 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  227 

When  Ralph  entered,  the  knight  sat  upright  on  his 
couch,  with  his  sheathed  sword  across  his  knee.  He 
guessed  at  once  that  a  visit  at  such  an  hour  was  not  for 
naught,  and  bade  his  esquire  withdraw,  and  keep  watch 
without.  There  was  no  lack  of  light  in  the  chamber ;  for 
a  mortier  burned  there  beside  the  one  that  Ralph  carried ; 
and  Hawkwood  scanned  his  comrade's  face  intently,  till 
the  door  was  closed  on  them. 

"What  ails  thee,  man?  Art  sickening  of  fever  or 
ague?  I  had  thought  thee  proof  against  such  fits." 

Whilst  Brakespeare  told  very  briefly  and  simply  what 
he  had  seen  and  heard,  the  other's  countenance  changed 
from  anxiety  to  indifference ;  and  he  even  smiled  slightly 
as  he  made  answer — 

"Certes,  'tis  barbarous  cruelty,  for  the  girl,  I  doubt 
not,  is  no  worse  than  many  another  bonne  gouge.  Yet 
I  see  not  how  it  can  be  hindered ;  nor,  in  plain  truth,  how 
it  concerns  thee  or  me." 

Brakespeare  bit  his  under  lip  sharply  for  the  other's 
coolness  chafed  rather  than  calmed  his  heated  blood. 

"Under  your  pleasure" — he  said — "it  concerns  me  thus 
far.  Knowing  the  road  that  they  must  travel,  it  will  be 
easy  to  catch  them  in  ambushment.  'Tis  not  unlikely 
that  the  girl  may  be  taken  out  of  their  hands,  at  the  cost 
of  a  few  dry  blows.  Monks  and  their  following  are 
cattle  quickly  cowed ;  but,  whether  or  nay,  the  holy  men 
shall  not  play  out  their  sport  without  speaking  three 
words  with  me." 

Hawkwood  bent  his  brows  in  evident  perplexity  and 
vexation.  Thoroughly  independent  by  nature,  and  hard- 
ened by  training,  he  thought  no  more  of  danger,  when  it 
was  worth  his  while  to  incur  it,  than  of  the  daily  bread 
he  ate ;  but  of  gratuitous  risk  he  had  a  virtuous  horror. 
Yet  he  had  not  lived  so  long  in  Ralph  Brakespeare's  com- 
pany, without  discovering  that  the  other  was  ill  to  turn 


228  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

from  his  purpose — whether  good  or  evil — when  it  was 
once  set.  They  were  on  equal  terms,  too,  now ;  and, 
despite  his  vantage  of  years  and  experience,  he  could 
only  counsel,  not  command. 

"Under  my  pleasure — that  hath  little  to  do  with  it,  I 
trow,"  he  said,  in  some  bitterness.  "Thou  knowest  not 
what  a  hornet's  nest  thou  art  bringing  about  thine  ears ; 
nor  what  venom  lies  in  priestly  stings — and  all  to  save  a 
ribaiide's  slender  wrists  from  straining.  Nevertheless,  I 
may  not  cross  thy  fancy.  Thou  art  sober  enough  as  a 
rule,  God  wot ;  neither  can  I  forget,  it  was  much  such  a 
quarrel  that  brought  us  first  together.  How  many  spears 
wilt  thou  need  to  help  thee  in  this  mad  freak?" 

"Eight  will  well  suffice,  beside  my  body-esquire," 
Ralph  answered.  "If  they  travel  with  stronger  escort 
than  is  like,  we  can  make  light  work  of  such  rascaille, 
taken  unawares,  at  odds  of  three  to  one.  I  doubt  not, 
but  we  shall  overtake  thee  ere  thou  comest  to  the  night's 
halt,  without  having  blunted  a  sword  blade.  None  the 
less  do  I  thank  thee  heartily  for  not  having  withstood  me 
in  this  matter." 

Hawkwood  was  too  politic  to  mar  a  concession  once 
made  by  after-sullenness.  So  he  answered  quite  cheer- 
fully- 

"Enough  said.  Only  I  trust  thou  dost  not  purpose  to 
carry  with  thee  the  wench  after  thou  hast  rescued  her. 
'Twould  be  evil  ensample.  for  our  soudards,  who  are  ever 
fond  of  such  baggage." 

Ralph  laughed,  in  spite  of  himself.  "Fear  me  not. 
Rescue  once  wrought,  we  go  our  several  ways.  The  bird 
is  well  able  to  shift  for  herself,  I  dare  swear,  despite  her 
gay  plumage ;  when  her  wings  are  free,  she  will  not  be 
lightly  limed  again." 

"That  is  well" — Hawkwood  answered.  "Now,  betake 
thee  to  thy  couch  again,  and  sleep  or  wake  as  thou  wilt. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  229 

But  I  see  not  wherefore  I  should  lose  my  rest,  because 
thou  art  moon-stricken.  Our  trumpets  will  sound  at 
dawn,  and  we  will  order  this  matter  as  we  ride." 

So  they  parted ;  and  Brakespeare,  after  confiding  his 
plan  to  Lanyon,  to  the  other's  huge  contentment,  cast 
himself  on  his  pallet.  But  day  broke,  without  either 
having  accomplished  more  than  a  brief  feverish  doze. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

SACRILEGE. 

F  THE  time  seemed  long  to  certain  of  the  Free 
Companions,  till  they  were  fairly  in  saddle,  the 
monks  were  not  less  eager  to  be  rid  of  their 
guests ;  and  the  Prior  himself  deigned  to  come 
forth  to  speed  their  departure,  though  the  hour  was  be- 
fore Prime.  Hawkwood  took  his  leave  with  due  ac- 
knowledgment ;  but  Brakespeare  kept  aloof,  feigning  to 
busy  himself  with  inspection  of  accoutrements  and  such 
matters.  He  could  not  bring  himself  to  interchange  even 
the  forms  of  courtesy  with  any  one  who  had  counte- 
nanced last  night's  loathsome  work ;  albeit,  the  object  of 
his  special  aversion — the  Sub-prior — was  not  in  presence. 
So  the  lances  filed  out  two  abreast,  and  moved  eastward 
along  the  right  bank  of  the  Garonne.  The  road  never 
diverged  far  from  the  river,  though  it  followed  not  all 
its  windings,  and  led  through  an  undulating  country, 
evidently  naturally  fertile,  though  at  that  remote  period 
there  was  far  less  of  tilth  than  woodland.  They  might 
have  ridden  some  three  leagues  or  so,  when  they  reached 
a  spot  so  exactly  suited  for  ambush,  that,  after  inter- 
change of  glances,  both  the  leaders  drew  bridle.  There 
was  forest  ground  both  to  front  and  rear ;  and  the  sum- 
mer foliage  of  the  hazels  and  hornbeams  fringing  the 
glade  was  so  thick  that  no  eyes,  unless  specially  watchful, 
would  be  likely  to  detect  the  glimmer  of  armor  ten 
fathoms  from  the  road  ;  whilst  the  branches  of  the  under- 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  231 

growth  were  not  so  strongly  tangled  but  that  a  barded 
destrier  might  easily  burst  through. 

Up  to  this  point,  none  save  Lanyon  and  Hawkwood 
guessed  at  Brakespeare's  purpose.  But,  so  soon  as  they 
had  halted,  that  knight  moved  back  to  the  centre  of  the 
column,  so  that  all  might  hear ;  and  spake  thus : 

"I  would  have  you  all  to  wit,  that  the  work  I  am  now 
setting  about  is  of  mine  own  choosing,  and  such  as  Sir 
John  Hawkwood,  my  brother-in-arms — though  he  willeth 
not  to  hinder  it — doth  in  no  wise  countenance  or  approve. 
Also,  I  needs  must  aver  that  from  the  same  there  is  to  be 
reaped  no  great  profit  or  honor.  Briefly,  it  is  mine  intent 
to  lie  in  ambushment  here  till  there  shall  pass  a  company 
from  the  moustier,  where  we  lay  last  night,  conveying  to 
Agen  a  woman,  falsely,  I  believe,  accused  of  sorcery,  who 
hath  been  already  grievously  tormented,  and  will  there 
be  barbarously  done  to  death.  It  is  no  light  matter,  some 
will  think,  to  balk  churchmen  of  their  will.  But  the  bur- 
den, whether  of  sin  or  shame,  I  take  on  mine  own 
shoulders.  Those  who  bide  with  me  shall  risk  no  more 
than  a  brief  brush  with  the  escort ;  scarce  enough,  per- 
chance, to  stay  the  stomachs  of  such  as  are  gluttons  of 
hard  blows.  Beyond  myself,  and  this,  my  esquire,  eight 
spears  will  suffice ;  but  I  enforce  none  to  such  duty 
neither  shall  any  serve  me  for  naught.  Each  and  every 
one  who  stands  this  day  at  my  back,  shall  receive  beyond 
his  usual  wage  ten  silver  crowns,  which,  should  harm 
befall  me,  Sir  John  Hawkwood  will  see  discharged.  Let 
such  as  mine  offer  pleases,  make  answer." 

There  arose  a  clamor  of  many  voices,  scarce  kept 
within  bounds  by  habits  of  discipline.  There  were  but 
few  in  that  godless  company,  who  would  not  have  broken 
sanctuary  for  less  guerdon  than  was  now  proffered ; 
furthermore,  such  a  passage  of  arms  was  the  very  pastime 
for  which  they  had  been  wearying ;  and,  above  all,  Sir 


232  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

Ralph  Brakespeare  was  a  special  favorite.  So,  nearly 
every  man  there  volunteered  his  service ;  such  as  kept 
silence  being  either  older  or  wiser  than  their  fellows,  or 
more  immediately  attached  to  Hawkwood's  own  person. 
Quickly,  and  seemingly  at  haphazard,  so  as  to  offend 
none,  yet  with  real  regard  to  the  character  of  each,  Brake- 
speare made  his  choice ;  and  after  a  few  more  words 
exchanged  between  the  leaders,  the  main  body  moved 
forward  whilst  the  ambush  proceeded  to  ensconce  them- 
selves. They  left  the  road  some  rods  further  on,  so  that, 
when  they  were  posted,  the  brushwood  in  their  front,  for 
some  distance  beyond  either  flank,  was  undisturbed. 

The  time  dragged  on  wearily  as  is  its  wont  when  eyes 
and  ears  are  on  the  strain.  But,  a  little  before  noon, 
sound  of  voices  and  tramp  of  hoofs  came  nearer  and 
nearer,  till  the  foremost  riders  were  fairly  within  the 
glade.  Ralph  had  certainly  undervalued  both  their  num- 
bers and  their  quality.  The  wealthy  Benedictines  of  La 
Raoul  could  afford  to  pay  their  retainers  handsomely.  If 
the  weapons  and  harness  of  the  escort  were  scarce  bright 
enough  to  please  a  critical  eye,  there  were  among  them 
some  solid  veterans,  able  to  hold  their  own  with  ordinary 
troopers.  First  came  some  dozen  mounted  spearmen  and 
about  the  same  number  of  arbalestriers  on  foot ;  then  two 
Benedictine  monks ;  some  little  distance  in  the  rear,  so  as 
to  be  just  out  of  their  ear-shot,  rode  Ignace,  the  Sub-prior 
— his  bridle-rein  fastened  by  a  cord  to  that  of  the  mule  on 
which  sat  a  veiled  woman,  whose  wrists  were  bound ;  and 
six  more  armed  horsemen  brought  up  the  rear. 

Step  by  step,  so  cautiously  that  the  brushwood  rustled 
no  more  than  might  have  been  accounted  for  by  the  sum- 
mer breeze,  Ralph  had  pushed  his  charger  forward,  till 
he  got  unobserved  within  a  lance's  length  of  the  road. 
As  those  two  passed,  he  could  hear  the  prisoner's  plain- 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  233 

tive  voice  answering,  what  seemed  to  have  been  a  threat 
from  her  guardian : 

"Ah,  holy  father!  Be  not  so  merciless.  Much  would 
I  do  to  win  your  favor,  yet  I  cannot  do  all.  The  love, 
even  of  such  as  I,  is  not  to  be  enforced,  especially  by  such 
rough  wooing  as  yours." 

There  was,  perchance,  the  slightest  shade  of  mocking 
coquetry  in  the  last  syllable.  At  any  rate,  so  the  Bene- 
dictine interpreted  them ;  for  he  purpled  with  passion  as 
he  griped  her  wrist,  so  violently  as  to  wring  from  her  a 
moan  of  pain. 

"Darest  thou  yet  again  to  deride  me?  Hast  not 
learned " 

Before  the  menace  was  complete,  the  signal  rang  out 
through  the  hazels — 

"Brakespeare!    Brakespeare !"" 

And  Ralph's  terrible  mace  had  stricken  from  the  saddle 
one  of  the  rearmost  horsemen ;  and,  with  Lanyon  at  his 
shoulder,  he  had  engaged  the  others  hand  to  hand,  leav- 
ing his  followers  to  deal  with  the  main  body  of  the  escort. 

Taken  at  sore  disadvantage,  for  there  was  scarce  time 
for  spearmen  to  couch  lance,  or  archer  to  bend  arbalest, 
the  Benedictine  soldiers  stood  for  awhile  stoutly  to  their 
arms.  But  though  they  fought  doggedly,  they  fought 
not  with  the  thorough  goodwill  of  their  adversaries. 
Moreover,  the  Free  Companions,  specially  those  on  the 
English  side,  had  already  laid  the  foundation  of  their  evil 
renown,  and  their  tender  mercies  were  known  to  be  cruel. 
So,  first  one,  then  another,  dropped  his  point,  till  there 
rose  a  general  cry  for  quarter,  and  the  struggle  in  front 
and  centre  was  quickly  over.  At  the  first  onset  the 
monks  huddled  together  like  frightened  sheep ;  but  the 
Sub-prior  soon  bethought  himself  that  no  harm  could 
befall  his  own  sacred  person,  and  was  thus  cool  enough 
to  watch  the  issue  narrowly.  When  he  saw  that  this  was 


234  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

no  longer  doubtful,  something  strangely  like  a  blasphemy 
sped  through  his  clenched  teeth,  and  he  drew  closer  to  the 
prisoner,  sliding  his  right  hand  into  the  breast  of  his  robe. 

"Spawn  of  Sathanas!"  the  Benedictine  said.  "Think- 
est  thou,  thou  shalt  'scape  to  make  mock  at  Ignace  once 
more  among  thy  paramours?" 

Then  from  under  the  dark  robe  came  a  bright  flash ; 
and,  wivh  one  smothered  shriek,  the  girl  sank  sideways  to 
the  ground,  with  a  dagger  buried  to  the  hilt  in  her  right 
side. 

Now  all  this  while  sharp  work  was  going  on  to  the 
rearward,  for,  though  Ralph  and  his  esquire  soon  dis- 
posed each  of  another  opponent,  there  still  were  left  three 
to  deal  with,  and  with  one  of  these  Brakespeare  found  no 
child's  play.  In  the  very  heat  of  the  conflict,  his  ear 
caught  the  death-cry,  and,  glancing  over  his  shoulder,  he 
barely  missed  seeing  the  murder  done.  A  groan  of  wrath 
burst  from  the  Free  Companion,  as  his  mace  descended 
full  on  his  adversary's  head,  crushing  bascinet  and  brain- 
pan together ;  then,  wheeling  his  charger  in  a  demivolte, 
and  letting  his  weapon  swing  by  its  wrist-chain,  he  swept 
the  Sub-prior  clean  from  the  saddle  with  a  buffet.  That 
act  of  sacrilege  would  assuredly  have  arrested  the  con- 
flict, had  it  not  been  already  ended,  for  the  two  who  still 
made  stand  against  Lanyon  instantly  cast  down  their 
arms,  unwilling  to  further  provoke  one  who  could  so 
entreat  God's  anointed  minister. 

The  other  monks  were  well-nigh  distraught  with 
terror,  and  sat  wringing  their  hands,  and  gazing  appeal- 
ingly  in  the  faces  of  the  group  of  prisoners  and  captors 
mingled  pell-mell,  that  gathered  round  the  spot,  near  the 
senseless  body  of  the  Sub-prior,  where  Ralph  sat,  his 
vizor  up,  with  La  Mauricaulde's  head  on  his  knees.  That 
she  was  dying  fast  was  plain,  for  the  ripe  pomegranafe 
lips  were  blue  already,  and  the  blossom  of  her  cheek  was 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  235 

faded ;  but  her  eyes,  as  the  silky  lashes  were  lifted  slowly, 
retained  their  wonderful  witchery,  and  her  voice  was  not 
less  caressing  than  her  gesture,  as  she  stroked  Ralph's 
hand  with  her  soft  white  fingers. 

"Ah!  beau  seigneur,  was  it  chance  that  brought  you 
to  poor  Zulma's  rescue?  For  never,  to  my  knowledge, 
did  we  meet  before.  You  have  been  kinder  and  braver 
than  all  who  swore  they  loved  me.  Dearly  would  I  have 
liked  to  pay  you  in  mine  own  fashion ;  but  'tis  too  late. 
I  know  not  whither  I  go,  only  I  have  good  hope  'twill  be 
amongst  mine  own  kind,  where  priests  have  no  dominion. 
Tell  Father  Ignace,  when  he  wakes,  that  I  liked  his  stab 
better  than  his  embrace,  after  all.  I  pray  you  grace  me 
with  one  kiss  on  my  cheek ;  'tis  not  cold  yet,  and  it  hath 
been  called  soft,  ere  now.  I  am  proud  that  the  last  lips 
T  taste — and  I  have  tasted  many — should  be  noble  as 
yours,  man  gcntil  chevalier." 

All  his  manhood  sorely  shaken,  he  stooped  to  bestow 
the  caress  ;  the  girl  sighed  twice  or  thricp  wearily ;  then 
there  came  a  shiver,  rather  than  a  struggle,  and  the 
knight  laid  the  fair,  frail  corpse  very  gently  on  the  forest 
grass. 

By  this  time  the  Sub-prior's  senses  had  returned,  and 
the  first  blank  bewilderment  of  his  face  was  succeeded 
by  the  distortion  of  mingled  rage  and  fear.  Yet  less  of 
the  first  than  of  the  last  was  there  expressed.  The 
priestly  garb  was  a  safe  conduct,  seldom,  if  ever,  violated. 
The  Benedictine  could  scarce  believe  the  rude  buffet  to 
have  been  other  than  an  unlucky  accident,  so  his  tone  was 
scarce  less  arrogant  than  if  he  had  been  dealing  with  an 
offender  in  his  own  chapter-house. 

"Whose  hand  was  laid  on  me  but  now?  If  'twas  by 
misadventure,  only  by  sharp  penance  can  it  be  purified ; 
if  otherwise,  better  had  it  been  stricken  with  the  palsy. 


236  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

Let  me  hear  the  truth,  lest  on  the  innocent  as  well  as  the 
guilty  should  fall  the  Church's  anathema." 

The  dullest-witted  of  the  lookers-on  guessed  that  a 
storm  of  passion  on  Ralph  Brakespeare's  face  would  have 
been  le^s  dangerous  than  its  black  resolve ;  as  he,  too, 
arose,  and  stood  betwixt  the  murdered  girl  and  her  slayer. 

"  'Twas  I  dealt  thee  that  buffet.  Canst  guess  why  I 
smote  thee  with  gauntlet  instead  of  mace?  'Twas  be- 
cause I  would  not  thou  should'st  die  in  honest  soldier- 
fashion  when  there  were'  hempen  cords  to  the  fore.  If 
there  be  virtue  in  thine  -office,  call  on  heaven  to  work  a 
present  miracle,  for  naught  else  shall  save  thee  from  a 
dog's  death." 

The  Benedictine  recoiled,  speechless  with  terror ;  but 
his  brethren  smote  upon  their  breasts  with  loud  outcry ; 
and  in  the  murmur  of  surprise  and  disapproval  that  ran 
through  the  circle,  joined  the  voice  of  more  than  one  Free 
Companion.  Btekespeare  turned  sharply  towards  the 
malcontents : —  ^ 

'T  will  not  argue  this  matter.  If  any  man  be  minded 
to  take  the  monk's  part,  let  him  step  forth,  and  I — waiv- 
ing the  privileges  of  command — will  meet  him  blade  to 
blade.  If  I  be  worsted,  freal  with  yonder  shaveling  as  ye 
will.  Perchance,  ye  may  overbear  me  and  mine  with 
odds  ;  but  not  otherwise  shall  the  hound  'scape  halter." 

A  significant  silence  ensued.  The  speaker  was,  as 
aforesaid,  both  liked  and  admired  by  his  followers ;  be- 
side this,  a  terrible  prestige  still  hung  round  his  name, 
and  none  cared  singly  to  feel  the  weight  of  the  arm  that 
kept  the  stair  at  Hacquemont.  Ralph  smiled,  somewhat 
scornfully. 

"Meseems  me,  the  monk  will  lack  champions.  Stand 
thou  forth,  Diedrich  Schwartz ;  thou  art  more  of  heathen 
than  of  Christian,  I  have  heard.  Let  us  see  now  whether 
thy  talk  over  thy  wine-cup  be  drunkard's  vaunt,  or 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  237 

whether  thou  wilt  earn  double  wage  by  doing,  for  once  in 
thy  life,  a  righteous  deed.  Wilt  thou  fill  the  hangman's 
office  ?  If  it  mislike  thee,  and  none  .other  can  be  found, 
I  will  set  mine  own  hand  to  the  rope." 

The  man  whom  he  addressed — a  huge  red-bearded 
Bohemian — came  forward,  eagerly. 

"I  thank  your  worship,"  he  growled,  "the  task  is  en- 
tirely to  my  humor.  When  black  cattle  wax  vicious,  'tis 
full  time  they  were  haltered.  ^Let  me  deal  with  him ;  I 
warrant  you,  I  cure  him  of  goring." 

The  preparations  for  execution  were  soon  made ;  but, 
whilst  Lanyon  and  another  were  binding  the  Benedic- 
tine's arms,  he  broke  suddenlywfrom  their  hold,  and 
groveled  in  the  grass  at  Ralph's  knees,  screaming  for 
mercy,  and  crying  thai  the  other  could  not  mean  thus  to 
punish  a  priest  for  having  laid  hands  on  one  possessed 
with  a  devil. 

Ralph  spurned  the  unhappy  wretch  with  his  mailed 
foot  as  he  glanted  at  the  corpse  lying  near. 

''Possessed  with  a  devil?'  Marry,  Jthou  wilt  have 
better  acquaintance  with  devils  soon,  though  thou  wilt 
scarce  meet  them  in  such  fair  guise."  x 

Then  the}'  dragged  the  Benedictine  away  to  where  the 
Bohemian  waited  under  a  stout  oak  limb.  "But  the  hoarse 
voice  ceased  not  to  shriek  out  a  ghastly  medley  of  prayers 
and  curses  till  the  halter  choked  it.  When  all  was  over, 
Brakespeare  approached  the  other  two  Benedictines,  who 
crouched  by  their  mules,  with  their  faces  buried  in  their 
robes. 

"We  make  not  prisoners  and  take  no  ransom  of  such 
as  ye  and  your  following" — he  said.  "Ye  are  free  to 
return  to  your  moustiers  when  ye  will;  and,  if  ye  care  to 
save  yon  carrion  from  the  crows,  ye  may  send  and  fetch 
it  home  after  sundown ;  only,  let  none  presume  to  pass 
this  way  again  before." 


238  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

Soldiers  and  monks  were  but  too  glad  to  escape  so 
easily  from  such  sacreligioHifjkompany ;  and,  within  brief 
space,  the  glade  wapclear  to  all  btit  the  Free  Companions. 
4  *•  Before  they  Je,t'Kfr ward,  Ralph  bade  Lanyon  and  an- 
other lift  theJ^Eprl's  corpse  and  carry  it  deep  into  the 
woo<dland,  fav-out  of  sight  of  the  road.  There  in  the 
light  soil,  with  the^r  swords  for  mattocks,  they  soon  dug 
a  rude  graVezpit,  deepa£n6ugh  to  be  sa£e  from  ravages  of 

vbird  or  beast ;  and  thereunder  canop^of  greenery  rests 
La  Mauricaulde's  bones^-ndt  less  qiu'etly,  perchance,  than 
many1  L  who  sleefp  under  fethedral  ai$les. 

Very  silen|  and  thoughtful  wcrc'the^Ffee  Companions, 
as  they  rode  on  through  the  fore§^an*d;  and  their  leader 

•  spoke  to  n<j*rte  till  they  rejoined  t«e  main  tody  under 
Hawkwood  at  the  village  where  they  halted  for  the  night. 
Sir  John's  brow  grew  overcast  when  lie  heard  what  had 
been  done,  and  he  cared  not  to  disguise  hijK  displeasure. 
Indeed,  betwixt  the  two  knights  tli€r%%;*t«£  ^coolness, 
not  soon  abated,  and  which  never  thorougnrfcyvvore  away. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

LES  TARDS-VENUS. 


Ti  HOUGH  Ralph  Brakespe.are  n£ver  so  long  as 
I  he  lived  repented  having  -taken  God's  ven- 
geance'mto^  his  own  hands,  it  follows  not  that 
he  was  insensible--  to  the  Consequences-  of  his 
act.  It  had  beejrfbi?*ter.  for-  him,  so  far  as  his  credit  was 
concerned,  to  have  sacked  and  burned  a  djDzen  cashes 
than  to  have  set  at-na-ught  the  sanctity  of  that  one  cowl. 
He  soon  fouu^  out  that  in  the  eyes  of  many,  neither 

s"* 

fanatical  nor-*- over-righteous,  he  was  held  guilty  of  the 
sin  for  vvliich,  the;v  is  no  forgiveness,  and,  therefore, 
rand  than  others  whose  lives  were 
^imaginable  cruelty  and  rapine.  He  could 
scarce-^tt/iafe  or  complain  now,  if  knights  of  blameless 
repute — -Whose  hands  were  clear  c&  aught  worse  than 
honorable  bloodshedding^-should  shrink  frornihjs  fellow- 
ship in  peace,  and  choose  that  even  on  a  striken  field 
some  space  should  divide  their  pennons.  At  certain 
times  he  felt  a  gloomy  satisfaction  in  the  thought,  that 
each  day  widened  the  gulf  dividing  4iim  from  the  class  in 
which  place  must  needs  have  been  found  for  him,-  had  he 
not  been  cheated  of  his  birthright :  but  at  others,  a  dreary 
sense  of  isolation  oppressed  him — the  more  so,  as  Hawk- 
wood's  manner  continued  reserved  and  cold. 

The  knight  was  not,  in  reality,  especially  shocked  by 
Ralph's  summary  justice ;  but  he  was  shrewd  enough  to 
be  aware  that  there  was  peril  :,n  the  close  companionship 


240  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

of  one  who  lay  under  the  Church's  ban,  and  probably 
thought  that  he  would  one  day  or  another  have  scandals 
enough  of  his  own  to  answer  for  without  having  act  or 
part  in  overt  sacrilege.  Nevertheless,  he  took  care  to 
avoid  anything  like  a  rupture ;  and  as  it  suited  neither  of 
their  purposes  to  return  to  Bordeaux,  the  two  held  on 
amicably  together ;  having  established  themselves  for  the 
nonce  at  the  castle  called  La  Perrache — a  detached  for- 
tress on  the  left  bank  of  the  Lotte,  to  the  north  of  Aiguil- 
lon,  which  was  too  scantily  garrisoned  to  offer  even  a 
show  of  resistance. 

If  Brakespeare  had  fallen  into  the  disfavor  of  his 
brother-in-arms,  it  was  far  otherwise  with  the  greater 
part  of  those  who  followed  their  several  pennons.  Those 
desperate  lahmaelites  regarded  with  admiring  awe  the 

• 

man  who  had  trampled  under  his  heel  the  superstitions 
from  which  they  themselves  were  not  wholly  exempt ;  and 
felt  a  sort  of  pride  in  being  associated  with  the  terror 
attaching  to  his  name ;  for  they  rejoiced,  rather  than 
otherwise  in  evil  repute,  so  long  as  it  made  them  more 
formidable  to  their  foes ;  even  as  the  Schwarz-Reiters  in 
later  times  were  wont  to  blacken  their  persons,  horses, 
and  harness,  before  going  into  battle.  Had  any  expedi- 
tion been  pn  foot,  promising  much  profit  at  the  cost  of 
much  pew;  when  their  forces  must  needs  be  divided,  not 
a  few  would  have  deserted  Hawkwood  to  take  their 
chance  under  the  other  pennon. 

Soon  after  the  events  lately  recorded  ensued  the  peace 
of  Bretigni.  Thenceforward  the  disorders,  especially  in 
the  southern  and  eastern  provinces  of  the  French  realm, 
became  more  and  more  outrageous.  Nor  is  this  wonder, 
when  it  is  considered  what  numbers  of  mercenaries,  used 
for  ten  years  past  to  the  license  of  free  quarters  in  a  half- 
conquered  country,  were  now  disbanded  to  find  service  or 
support  themselves  as  best  they  might,  with  scanty  means 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  241 

too,  for  their  booty  or  wage  was  wasted  as  soon  as  won. 
Some,  indeed,  absolutely  refused  to  surrender  to  the 
French  deputies  the  fortresses  which  they  held,  asserting 
they  were  soldiers  of  Navarre,  not  of  King  Edward, 
whose  orders  they  now  chose  to  set  at  naught.  Neither 
did  these  at  first  lack  excuse,  from  the  conduct  of  many 
of  the  other  party ;  since  the  Barons  of  Languedoc — 
headed  by  De  la  Marche,  D'Armagnac,  Comminges,  and 
Chatillon — were  more  than  loath  to  transfer  their  alle- 
giance ;  whilst  Poiton,  La  Rochellois,  and  Saintonge 
clung  no  less  obstinately  to  their  ancient  fealty.  So  that 
it  was  more  than  a  year  before  the  remonstrances  of  John 
the  Good — enforced  by  his  cousin,  James  of  Bourbon,  in 
person — took  effect,  or  that  Chandos  was  able  to  establish 
himself  in  peace  at  Niort,  as  lieutenant-general  of  all  the 
fair  domains  ceded  to  England  at  Bretigni. 

The  scattered  malcontents  soon  drew  together,  either 
cleaving  to  their  old  commanders,  or  choosing  new  lead- 
ers, till  they  waxed  so  strong  and  bold,  that  they  feared 
not  to  storm  the  fair  town  of  Joinville  on  the  Marne, 
wherein  half  the  riches  of  Champagne  were  stored. 
There  the  Tards-venus — as  they  called  themselves  mock- 
ingly, abode  for  a  while,  proving  that  if  they  came  late, 
they  came  in  bitter  earnest,  for  all  the  fertile  region,  hith- 
erto innocent  of  ravage,  they  made  desolate',  up  to  the 
gates  of  Langres.  When  little  was  left  worth  the  harry- 
ing, the  Free  Companions  rode  southwards  through 
Burgundy,  despoiling  after  their  pleasure  (for  none  dared 
make  head  against  them)  all  the  neighborhood  of  Besan- 
con,  Dijon,  and  Beaune ;  and  putting  Guerche  to  pillage 
and  sack.  By  the  middle  of  Lent,  Seguin  de  Bastefol, 
Guy  de  Pin,  the  Bastard  of  Breteuil,  and  their  fellows, 
grew  satiate  of  vulgar  sport,  and  resolved  to  fly  at  higher 
game.  So  they  pushed  forward  down  the  banks  of  the 
Saone,  with  the  avowed  purpose  of  reaching  Avignon, 


242  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

and  enforcing  the  Church  to  contribute  liberally  to  their 
necessities ;  and  over  wine-cup  or  dice-box  already  began 
to  count  up  the  ransoms  to  be  wrung  from  Pope  or  Car- 
dinal. But  thus  far  they  did  not  penetrate  without 
hindrance.  Tidings  of  these  things  reached  John  the 
Good  in  Paris,  to  his  sore  grief  and  anger:  so,  without 
delay,  the  king  sent  letters  to  his  cousin  of  Bourbon — 
then  tarrying  at  Montpelier — bidding  him  march  pres- 
ently with  a  sufficient  force  to  the  chastisement  of  the 
freebooters.  Nothing  loath,  that  famous  captain  gath- 
ered from  Auvergne,  Limousin,  Provence,  and  Dauph- 
igny,  a  goodly  armament ;  and  marched  from  Agen 
northwards,  till,  some  few  leagues  from  Lyons,  he  came 
to  where  the  Free  Companies  lay. 

A  very  Babel  of  tongues  might  have  been  heard  on  the 
hill  of  Brignais,  for  English,  Germans,  Brabanters,  Flem- 
ings, Hainaulters,  and  Gascons  mingled  thflre ;  and  their 
harness  was  motley  as  their  tongues.  But  the  spirit  of 
nationality  was  well  supplied  by  the  spirit  of  partisanship, 
and  there  was  no  disunion  in  the  strange  encampment ; 
nor  was  the  discipline  less  rigid  than  if  all  had  been  bred 
on  the  same  soil,  and  had  fought  from  boyhood  under  the 
same  standard.  The  freebooters,  like  the  buccaneers  of 
later  date,  observed  times  and  seasons  in  their  devilry, 
bearing  themselves  ever  most  soberly  on  the  eve  of  bat- 
tle. Amongst  those  who  had  cast  in  their  lot  of  late 
with  the  Tards-venus,  were  Hawkwood  and  Brakes- 
peare.  La  Perrache  was  no  safe  abiding  place  for  them, 
since  Jacques  of  Bourbon  had  mustered  his  armament; 
and  there  was  no  choice,  but  to  unite  themselves  with 
the  main  body  speedily,  for  such  as  wished  not  to  be  cut 
off  in  detail. 

Ralph  was  no  longer  an  impulsive  aspirant,  but  a 
tough,  hardened  adventurer,  with  whom  dreams  of  chiv- 
alric  glory  were  as  things  of  the  past;  yet  some 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  243 

instincts  of  gentle  birth  and  breeding,  after  the  rough 
usage  and  evil  communication  of  a  dozen  years,  were 
still  vivid  enough  to  make  him  feel  uneasy  in  his  present 
company.  And  on  that  April  morning — looking  forth, 
whilst  they  waited  for  Bourbon's  onset — the  knight  felt 
that  he  would  have  given  much  to  have  found  himself 
amongst  the  assailants  rather  than  the  assailed.  Some- 
thing of  this  he  hinted  to  his  brother-in-arms,  but  met 
with  scant  sympathy  or  encouragement  there. 

'Tis  somewhat  late  in  the  day  to  be  over  nice" — 
Hawkwood  said,  bitterly.  "If  any  scruples  beset  thee, 
choke  them,  I  pray  thee,  even  as  thou  didst  throttle  the 
monk.  Bestir  thyself  with  that  mace  of  thine  doughtily 
to-day.  By  the  Mass,  thou  never  hadst  better  reason. 
Seest  thou  yon  banner  in  the  van  of  their  first  battalion? 
It  bears  the  blazon  of  Arnaut  de  Cervole,  called  the  Arch- 
Priest.  There  is  little  of  the  priest  about  him,  save  in 
his  title,  they  say;  nevertheless,  I  were  loath  to  see  thee 
alive  at  his  mercy.  But  for  that  matter,  every  man  here 
will  fight  like  a  penned  rat ;  and  our  plans  were  right 
warily  laid  yesternight.  If  I  err  not,  some  of  those  gay 
pennons  will  be  smirched  ere  all  is  done." 

Of  a  truth,  the  Free  Companions,  in  preparing  for  bat- 
tle, had  displayed  no  mean  strategy.  They  had  great 
vantage  of  ground  in  their  favor,  being  entrenched  on  the 
plateau  of  a  hill — not  high,  but  exceeding  steep — the 
which  could  only  be  ascended  slantwise.  Moreover,  by 
their  method  of  encampment  they  had  so  cunningly  dis- 
sembled their  real  force,  that  the  French  scouts  reported 
their  enemy  to  muster  but  some  five  thousand,  instead  of 
thrice  as  many,  which  was  their  actual  strength. 

It  was  in  vain  that  Arnaut  de  Cervole,  and  other  cap- 
tains of  approved  wisdom,  discredited  these  tidings,  rely- 
ing rather  on  the  sure  intelligence  they  had  before 
obtained.  Jacques  de  Bourbon  was  not  to  be  gainsaid; 


244  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

and  many  knights,  smarting  under  the  disgrace  and 
damage  endured  already  from  the  freebooters,  backed 
him  in  his  rash  resolve.  So  the  trumpet  sounded  the 
assault — the  valiant  Arch-Priest  leading  the  vanguard. 

Now,  in  the  Free  Companies,  there  were  many  imper- 
fectly harnessed  and  rudely  weaponed,  who  could  have 
made  a  poor  stand  against  the  charge  of  men-at-arms. 
These  were  ranged  all  along  the  hill-side,  with  huge  piles 
of  flints  and  other  missiles  ready  to  their  hands,  and  plied 
them  with  effect  scarcely  less  deadly  than  that  of  the  Eng- 
lish bows  at  Poitiers.  Here,  as  heretofore,  the  unwieldy 
column  armed  cap-a-pie  spent  its  strength  in  furious 
efforts  to  come  to  close  quarters  with  enemies  safe  from 
their  agility  and  vantage  ground ;  all  the  while  the  stones 
kept  hailing  down,  beating  in  bascinets  and  breastplates, 
maiming  where  they  did  not  slay.  Jacques  de  Bourbon, 
bringing  up  the  second  battalion  in  support,  did  but  make 
confusion  worse  confounded  instead  of  giving  succor. 

When  the  turmoil  was  at  its  densest,  and  the  assail- 
ants were  thoroughly  in  disorder,  the  main  body  of  the 
Free  Companions,  perfectly  horsed  and  armed,  and  in 
admirable  order,  advanced  by  secret  road  round  the  hill, 
and  fell  upon  the  flank  of  the  French  with  shortened 
lances.  The  issue  of  the  day  was  not  long  doubtful  after 
that.  Though  Cervole,  Beaujeu,  Chalons,  Foretz,  and 
Vienne,  bore  themselves  right  worthily,  they  could  make 
no  head  against  the  freebooters ;  who,  as  Froissart  hath 
it,  "fought  so  hardily  that  it  was  marvel."  One  hundred 
knights  and  barons  rendered  themselves  prisoners  there ; 
and  scarcely  did  a  remnant  of  the  goodly  armament  that 
had  marched  through  Lyons  a  few  days  since  make  their 
way  thither  with  Jacques  de  Bourbon  and  his  son,  each  of 
whom  carried  back  his  death-wound. 

Brakespeare's  scruples  and  discontent  troubled  him  not 
a  whit  while  blows  were  exchanged — indeed,  his  prowess 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  245 

that  day  was  acknowledged  and  admired  by  many  usu- 
ally grudging  of  praise — but  he  had  little  heart  to  join  in 
the  mad  revels  and  uncouth  rejoicings  with  which  the 
victory  was  celebrated ;  neither  did  the  doings  of  the  next 
few  weeks  reconcile  him  more  to  his  fellows  in  command. 

There  was  wild  work  all  through  the  country  of  For- 
etz  whilst  the  marauding  band  roamed  hither  and  thither 
unchecked,  sparing  only  the  fortresses ;  and  these  rather 
because  they  cared  not  to  waste  time  in  siege  than  because 
they  feared  to  attack.  At  the  last  the  country  became  so 
absolutely  desolate  that  it  could  find  provender  for  man 
and  horses  no  longer ;  so  the  Free  Companions  were  fain 
to  separate.  The  larger  division  marched  southward 
still,  till  Guy  de  Pin,  with  the  advanced  guard,  stormed 
Pont  du  St.  Esprit.  There  the  freebooters  from  all  parts 
drew  together ;  so  that  Pope  Innocent,  in  his  palace  at 
Avignon,  but  seven  leagues  off,  trembled  exceedingly, 
and  caused  to  be  proclaimed  a  solemn  crusade  against 
these  enemies  of  God  and  man ;  promising  remission  a 
poend  et  culpa  to  all  such  as  should  stand  betwixt  Holy 
Church  and  danger.  Not  many,  in  truth,  were  tempted 
to  follow  where  promises  were  rife,  but  pay  was  lacking ; 
yet  enough  to  enable  the  Cardinal  of  Ostea  to  make  some 
front  during  the  early  summer,  and  to  hold  the  marauders 
in  check,  till  an  abler  soldier  and  a  better  diplomatist 
came  across  the  Alps,  and  the  Marquis  of  Montferrat  took 
the  matter  in  his  own  hand.  He  so  wrought  with  the 
Free  Companies  that,  stipulating  for  present  largesse  of 
sixty  thousand  florins,  and — strangest  condition  of  all — 
plenary  absolution  from  the  Pope,  they  consented  to  fol- 
low this  renowned  captain  to  the  wars  in  Lombardy ;  and 
so  the  realm  of  France  found  some  breathing-space  from 
torment. 

When  Guy  de  Pin  and  the  others  marched  southward, 
some  three  thousand  men-at-arms  tarried  with  Seguin 


246  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

de  Bastefol,  who  lost  no  time  in  occupying  the  strong 
town  of  Anse,  on  the  Saone,  which  he  held  long  after,  in 
despite  of  King  or  Pope,  sucking  in,  like  some  monstrous 
cuttle  fish,  the  very  life  blood  of  the  fertile  country 
round.  Here  too,  Hawkwood  and  Brakespeare  had  their 
head-quarters,  acknowledging  Seguin  de  Bastefol  as  their 
nominal  leader,  yet  going  forth  and  returning  at  their 
own  pleasure,  and  acting  in  most  respects  as  independent 
captains, 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

ON   FORAY. 

HE  country  for  leagues  round  Anse  soon  grew 
more  impoverished  and  drained  till  it  could 
barely  victual  the  powerful  garrison  lying 
there  ;  so  that  the  freebooters  were  forced  to  go 
farther  afield,  till  often  several  days'  march  would  sepa- 
rate them  from  the  town.  Brakespeare  especially  af- 
fected these  distant  expeditions ;  for,  to  the  old  restless 
impatience  of  inaction,  was  added  dislike  of  present 
associations  and  circumstances.  He  always  felt  as 
if  a  weight  were  lifted  from  his  lungs,  when  he 
was  fairly  out  of  sight  of  the  banks  of  the  Saone. 
In  some  respects  Ralph  was  not  more  delicate  of 
dealing  than  his  fellows.  No  scruples  withheld  him 
from  robbing  with  the  strong  hand  whatsoever 
pleased  him,  or  from  enriching  himself  and  his  fol- 
lowers at  the  cost  of  those  whom — despite  the  mock  peace 
of  Bretigni — he  still  chose  to  esteem  enemies.  But  he 
would  allow  no  needless  violence,  much  less  anything  of 
brutal  license ;  his  followers  soon  got  to  know  that  whilst 
on  active  service  they  must  take  their  pleasure  after  his 
fashion,  not  their  own ;  and  sharp  examples  had  taught 
them  to  beware  of  one  who  never  spoke  twice  without 
striking,  and  striking  to  fell  purpose.  Nevertheless, 
Ralph  kept  his  place  in  the  favor,  if  not  in  the  love,  of  his 
adherents ;  if  they  growled  sometimes  in  their  beards, 
they  would  allow  none  other  to  speak  disparagingly  of 


248  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

him  in  their  hearing ;  and  if  they  had  no  tales  of  debauch 
to  tell  on  their  return,  none  in  the  garrison  had  so  much 
coin  to  spare  for  revel  or  ribaude,  as  those  who  rode  under 
the  tzvo  splintered  lances,  crossed  on  a  sable  field. 

On  a  certain  morning,  late  in  the  autumn  of  1361, 
Brakespeare  crossed  the  Saone  into  Burgundy,  intending 
to  visit  a  region  into  which  neither  he  nor  any  of  his  com- 
rades had  yet  penetrated,  that  stretching  northwards  from 
the  Haute-Rhone  towards  the  border  of  Savoy.  Distance, 
difficulty  of  access,  and  reputed  poverty,  had  been  the 
causes  of  this  immunity.  Of  the  two  former,  Ralph  had 
learned  to  think  lightly  of  late,  and  of  the  last  he  chose 
now  to  judge  for  himself.  The  first  day's  march  led 
through  country  already  thoroughly  explored  and  ex- 
hausted ;  neither  on  the  second  did  anything  notable 
occur.  The  only  dwellings  above  the  degree  of  a  peas- 
ant's hovel  that  they  passed,  were  a  few  poverty-stricken 
manoirs  and  gaunt,  lonely  towers  where  no  plunder  was 
likely  to  pay  the  peril  of  assault ;  and  those  who  hunt  for 
profit  care  not  to  meddle  with  a  wolf's  lair.  By  noon  on 
the  third  day  they  had  come  down  on  the  river,  and  were 
fain  to  keep  the  road,  such  as  it  was,  that  followed  its 
windings.  The  rocky,  woody  country  all  around  that  suc- 
ceeded flat  sandy  plains  was  ill-traveling  for  barded 
chargers.  They  were  nearly  abreast  of  the  rapids,  now 
called  the  Saut  du  Rhone,  when  the  scouts — who,  after 
Brakespeare's  unvarying  wont,  had  been  sent  in  advance 
— came  back  with  tidings  that  some  short  distance  in  the 
front  they  had  descried  a  great  and  fair  castle.  Brake- 
speare halted  his  party  instantly,  and  rode  forward  him- 
self to  reconnoitre,  accompanied  only  by  Lanyon. 

The  last  two  years  had  changed  the  esquire  more  than 
his  master.  He  deemed  it  his  duty  to  adapt  his  demeanor 
in  some  fashion  to  their  altered  fortunes ;  and  had  so  far 
succeeded,  that  the  stolid  simplicity  of  his  countenance 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  249 

was  now  replaced  by  a  sort  of  saturnine  gravity,  which 
suited  well  with  his  slow  brevity  of  speech.  Moreover, 
his  bearing  had  long  ceased  to  be  clownish  or  awkward ; 
and  whether  on  foot  or  in  saddle,  he  looked  from  head  to 
heel  a  tried,  sturdy  soldier. 

After  some  three  or  four  furlongs  of  steep  ascent,  the 
woodland  ended  abruptly,  and  some  hundred  yards  or 
so  a  level  clearing  extended  beyond,  which  had  to  be 
crossed  before  arriving  at  the  barbican.  Under  cover  of 
the  trees,  the  knight  made  long  and  careful  survey  before 
he  spoke.  , 

"A  brave  outside,  by  Saint  Giles!  If  the  withinside 
answers  thereto,  it  will  be  well  worth  the  winning.  What 
thinkest  thou  ?  Ha  ?" 

Unless  directly  questioned,  Lanyon  never  dreamt  of 
giving  his  opinion,  and  even  now  there  passed  his  lips 
only  one  word: 

"If " 

Ralph  shook  himself  somewhat  impatiently. 

"A  plague  on  thy  raven's  beak !  Is  it  so  long  since  it 
was  wetted  that  thou  must  needs  croak?  We  will  prove 
what  thine  'Ifs'  are  worth  ere  night.  Bring  up  my  spears 
forthwith.  There  is  a  shrewd  storm  gathering  in  the 
west ;  if  yon  wall  find  us  naught  better,  they  shall  find 
us  roof-bield,  and  save  harness  from  rusting." 

The  castle  owed  little  of  its  strength  to  art.  Around 
two  sides  of  the  cliff,  whose  plateau  it  nearly  covered, 
ran  a  ravine  escarped  by  nature,  and  so  deep,  that  one, 
standing  on  the  brink,  looked  down  on  the  topmost 
branches  of  the  pines  that  found  roothold  amongst  the 
rocks  beneath.  The  walls,  in  most  places,  rose  sheer 
from  the  further  verge,  so  that  nothing  without  wings 
could  have  passed  along ;  and  the  only  access  to  the  gate 
was  across  the  narrowest  part  of  the  gorge,  where  a  plat- 
form masonry  jutted  forth  on  either  side,  joined  in  the 


250  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

midst  by  a  pont-levis  that  could  be  raised  or  lowered  at 
pleasure.  It  seemed  as  if  those  who  fortified  the  place 
had  deemed  it  so  nearly  impregnable  as  to  care  little  for 
ordinary  outworks ;  for  the  barbican  was  built  rather  for 
show  than  defense — being,  in  truth,  little  more  than  an 
arch  surmounted  by  battlements.  But  the  ponderous 
gate-tower  beyond  was  a  small  fortress  in  itself ;  and 
there  the  garrison  was  evidently  intended  to  make  its  first 
serious  stand.  As  soon  as  his  party  came  up,  Brakespeare 
dismounted  all  save  such  as  were  needed  to  take  charge 
of  the  horses ;  and,  causing  the  cumbrous  lances  to  be 
piled,  gave  his  brief  orders  for  the  assault  in  case  the 
castle  should  not  be  rendered  peaceably. 

Then  very  warily  they  crept  forward  on  foot,  yet  not 
so  warily,  but  that  they  were  descried  from  a  loop- 
hole, or  tourellc,  for  on  the  battlement  no  watchman 
showed  himself.  Three  or  four  quick  notes  of  alarm 
were  sounded  on  a  bugle  within ;  and  as  the  leader  of  the 
Free  Companions — deeming  further  precaution  useless — 
set  foot  on  the  level  clearing,  the  drawbridge  rose  with 
provoking  slowness,  till  it  hung  in  air  midway  betwixt 
the  two  platforms,  leaving  a  chasm  some  three  fathoms 
across. 

Brakespeare  seemed  no  more  disconcerted  than  if  such 
an  incident  had  entered  into  his  plans  of  attack.  Seeing 
that  the  place  could  not  now  be  carried  by  surprise,  he 
advanced  his  company,  in  regular  order  and  no  undue 
haste,  across  the  open  space ;  and,  passing  through  the 
gates  of  the  barbican,  stood  forth  alone  on  the  platform, 
and  bade  his  trumpet  sound  a  parley.  After  a  brief  de- 
lay, an  elderly  knight  in  full  armor,  save  for  the  vizor, 
appeared  behind  the  battlements  of  the  gate-tower ;  and 
demanded,  in  set  phrase,  to  be  informed  wherefore  tres- 
pass was  made  on  the  lands  of  La  Roche  Dagon,  and  a 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  251 

challenge  sounded  at  its  gates ;  further,  under  what  stan- 
dard the  intruders  served? 

"I  am  here  for  mine  own  pleasure,"  Brakespeare  an- 
swered ;  "and  I  follow  no  other  standard  than  King  Ed- 
ward's when  it  is  flying.  But  for  the  nonce,  I  hold  with 
the  Free  Company  lying  at  Anse,  under  Sir  Seguin  de 
Bastefol's  command.  It  is  my  purpose  to  lodge  within 
your  walls  to-night,  and  it  may  be  for  some  space,  after. 
Now,  therefore,  say  quickly  whether  ye  be  minded  to 
give  me  free  admittance,  or  if  I  must  make  entry  after 
mine  own  fashion." 

The  Frenchman's  countenance  fell  at  the  mention  of 
the  Free  Companies ;  but  it  grew  dark  and  angry  at 
Ralph's  last  words,  though  he  constrained  himself  to 
speak  with  some  formality. 

"Sir  Knight — for  I  perceive  that  your  spurs  are  golden, 
though  your  manners  scarce  answer  your  degree — I  may 
not  reply  to  your  demand  without  conference  with  the 
high  and  puissant  dame  whom  I  serve ;  for  the  Countess 
Bertha  orders  all  things  here,  since  it  pleased  Heaven  to 
afflict  our  good  lord  of  La  Roche  Dagon  with  palsy." 

So,  with  a  stiff  obeisance,  the  Frenchman  withdrew ; 
but  returned  instantly  to  say  that  the  Countess  chose  to 
make  answer  in  person.  Lances  and  arbalests  began  to 
bristle  all  along  the  battlements  of  the  gate-tower.  In 
strange  contrast  to  these  was  the  apparition  that  soon 
filled  one  of  the  centre  crenelles. 

A  beautiful  woman,  though  her  beauty  was  of  an  un- 
common type.  The  outline  of  the  haughty  aquiline  fea- 
tures might  have  been  softer,  and  the  curve  of  the  crim- 
son sensual  lips,  less  decided ;  the  small  head,  too,  would 
have  seemed  overloaded  by  the  masses  of  red-gold  hair 
that  grew  far  down  on  the  broad  low  brow,  if  the  slender 
neck  had  not  carried  it  so  imperially.  Only  the  upper 
part  of  her  figure  was  visible,  yet  somehow  Ralph  guessed 


252  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

it  to  be  tall  and  shapely.  She  leant  forward  over  the  bat- 
tlements— not  eagerly  or  anxiously,  but  with  a  sort  of 
indolent  grace,  as  though  she  had  been  looking  down  on 
a  spectacle  prepared  for  her  amusement.  Brakespeare, 
standing  bareheaded  beneath  her,  was  near  enough  to  see 
the  glitter  of  her  great  tawny  eyes,  and  her  voice  was 
wondrously  sweet  and  clear,  even  now,  when  its  tones 
were  mocking. 

"So,  bean  chevalier,  you  purpose,  my  seneschal  tells 
me,  to  honor  our  poor  dwelling  with  your  company 
whether  it  likes  us  or  not.  It  grieves  me  to  seem  nig- 
gard or  churlish ;  nevertheless,  I  counsel  you  to  prick 
forward  ere  darkness  and  rain  overtake  you  to  some  other 
shelter.  Unless  ye  have  martlet's  wings  and  can  lodge 
in  their  nests,  ye  will  find  no  shelter  to-night  at  La  Roche 
Dagon." 

Brakespeare's  cheek  reddened  under  the  deep  tan  of 
sun  and  weather.  But  he  made  answer  with  grave  cour- 
tesy: 

"I  feared  that  such  would  be  your  answer,  noble  lady. 
Yet  I  would  your  own  lips  had  not  spoken  it.  I  care  not 
to  bandy  challenges  with  dames.  I  knew  not  your  castle 
had  so  fair  a  commander ;  nevertheless,  I  may  not,  with- 
out shame,  be  turned  back.  I  pray  you  withdraw,  and 
bid  your  followers  within  do  their  devoir,  whilst  I  and 
mine  will  essay  what  simple  men  may  do  without  aid  of 
miracle." 

Her  slender  hand  waved  a  gay  defiance,  and  the  next 
instant — instead  of  the  proud  beautiful  face — the  grim 
visage  of  an  arbalestrier  peered  out,  and  Ralph  stepped 
back  from  the  platform  into  the  shadow  of  the  barbican 
arch. 

"Who  hath  charge  of  the  grappling-iron — Gilbert 
Fleming?  That  is  well.  See  there  is  no  fray  in  the  rope, 
and  that  it  be  fast  to  the  ring.  Thou  hast,  too,  the  short 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  253 

curtalaxe  I  bade  thee  have  sharpened  at  Anse?  Lan- 
yon,  do  them  make  haste  and  rid  me  of  jambarde  and 
brassard.  I  needs  must  have  my  limbs  free  for  this 
gear."  As  he  spoke,  the  knight  unbuckled  his  sword- 
belt  and  cast  down  his  gauntlet.  From  mere  force  of 
habitual  obedience,  the  squire  knelt  down  and  busied 
himself  with  stud  and  buckle,  but  he  looked  up  implor- 
ingly in  his  master's  face. 

"I  beseech  your  worship,  be  not  over  rash.  Consider 
that  here  is  no  case  of  fall  into  ditch  or  moat,  whence  ye 
might  'scape  with  bruise  or  drenching.  Bones  would  be 
liked  cracked  eggshells,  once  they  touched  the  rocks 
at  the  bottom  yonder.  In  God's  name  suffer  me  to  try 
this  adventure.  I  am  the  lighter  of  the  twain  and  will 
scarce  be  missed,  God  wot,  if  aught  miscarry." 

Ralph's  palm  fell  roughly,  but  not  unkindly,  on  his 
follower's  shoulder. 

"Of  what  pratest  thou,  blockhead?  Lighter  than  I — 
with  all  that  mass  of  brawn?  And  how  would  those 
stiff  bow-legs  of  thine  twine  round  the  rope?  By  what 
right  lead  I  these  spears,  if  I  care  not  to  be  foremost  in 
peril  ?  No  more  words :  but  see  that  the  rope  be  fast,  so 
that  it  yield  not  with  my  weight ;  and  lay  hands  on  me, 
so  that  I  roll  not  sidelong  when  the  drawbridge  comes 
down.  Gilbert  Fleming,  thou  art  quick  of  eye  and  steady 
of  hand,  do  thou  cast  the  hook." 

Grumbling  and  muttering  in  his  beard,  Lanyon  com- 
pleted his  task ;  but  the  others  murmured  applause,  as 
their  leader  followed  out  on  to  the  platform  the  trooper 
who  carried  the  grappling-rope.  At  the  first  throw  the 
iron  held  fast  round  one  of  the  lowering  chains.  Six  or 
seven  of  the  Free  Companions  kept  the  rope  tight  with  all 
their  weight  and  strength ;  and,  before  the  garrison  were 
aware  of  his  intent,  Brakespeare  had  swung  himself  up 
hand  over  hand,  and  was  crouched  at  the  top  of  the  steep 


254  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

sloping  planks,  with  his  left  arm  twined  round  the  sup- 
porting posts  of  the  hand-rail.  His  face  was  turned  to- 
wards the  barbican,  so  that  his  back  was  towards  the 
danger — the  sorest  trial  of  nerve,  all  soldiers  say.  Below 
him  the  ghastly  naked  rocks,  twenty  fathoms  down, 
peered  out  through  the  rank  herbage  and  roots  of  pines ; 
yet  he  plied  his  axe  as  coolly  and  skillfully  as  if  he  had 
been  felling  an  oak,  till  the  staple  flew  from  the  wood- 
work, and  one  of  the  supporting  chains  dangled  loose. 
Then  he  crept  cautiously  to  the  other  side  of  the  pont- 
lez'is,  and  twining  his  arm  yet  more  firmly,  began  the 
same  work  there.  But  long  ere  this  the  garrison  had  re- 
covered from  their  amazement,  and  more  than  one  quar- 
rel had  glanced  off  Ralph's  bascinet  and  breast-plate ;  an 
arbalestrier,  wiser  than  his  fellows,  was  just  taking  aim 
at  one  of  the  assailant's  unprotected  limbs,  when  a  voice 
issued  from  the  bartizan  at  the  angle  of  the  gate-tower — 

"Hold !  let  none  shoot  another  bolt  without  my  com- 
mand." 

It  was  the  Countess  Bertha  who  spoke.  She  had 
chosen  to  retreat  no  further  than  where  she  could  watch 
all  that  passed,  in  safety. 

Over  the  rattle  of  iron  and  the  splintering  of  beams, 
the  clear  imperious  tones  smote  on  Ralph  Brakespeare's 
ear,  and  a  thrill  of  proud  pleasure  tingled  through  his 
veins.  He  felt,  for  the  moment,  less  like  a  freebooter 
setting  his  life  on  a  desperate  hazard  for  the  chance  of 
booty,  than  a  knight  displaying  his  prowess  under  the 
eyes  of  the  queen  of  the  tournament,  whose  glove  was 
to  be  the  victor's  guerdon.  The  corded  muscles  of  his 
forearm  tightened,  as  he  threw  double  strength  into  three 
more  blows  that  finished  his  work.  Then  the  pont-levis 
came  crashing  down  with  a  shock  that  made  the  solid 
masonry  of  its  supports  tremble.  It  was  well  for  Ralph 
that  he  had  given  warning  beforehand,  so  that  strong  and 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  255 

nimble  hands  were  ready  there ;  for  the  shock  was  so 
stunning  that  his  grasp  loosened,  and  he  was  rolling  side- 
ways towards  the  chasm,  when  Lanyon  and  Fleming 
caught  his  shoulder  and  drew  him  back  under  the  bar- 
bican. 

In  a  few  seconds  the  effect  of  the  fall  passed  off.  The 
esquire  had  begun  to  buckle  on  his  master's  armor  with 
much  more  alacrity  than  he  had  shown  in  doffing  it,  and 
the  Free  Companions  were  crowding  forward  emulously 
for  the  assault  whose  result  no  man  doubted  now.  They 
had  dealt  with  such  matters  too  often  not  to  know  how 
little  chance  oak  and  iron  stood  against  axe  and  lever, 
wielded  as  they  knew  how  to  wield  them.  But,  as  they 
tarried  till  their  leader  was  fully  armed,  a  white  kerchief 
fluttered  from  the  loop-hole  of  the  bartizan ;  and  the  next 
moment  the  beautiful  chatelaine  looked  from  the  same 
centre  crenelle.  Ralph  came  forth  in  time  to  hear  her 
first  words. 

"I  cry  you  mercy,  beau  chevalier.  Had  I  known  what  a 
Paladin  stood  before  our  gates,  I  had  never  dreamed  of 
barring  them,  and  had  thought  our  poor  roof  honored  by 
his  tarrying  here.  I  think  there  lives  never  another,  be- 
twixt Rhone  and  Garonne,  wlio  would  have  dared  such  a 
feat  as  hath  just  dazzled  mine  eyes.  You  are  right  wel- 
come to  La  Roche  Dagon,  though  'tis  somewhat  late  to 
say  so.  Enter,  I  pray  you,  and  deal  with  us  as  you  list; 
remembering  only  that  we  have  rendered  ourselves  with- 
out bloodshedding,  and  that  our  garrison  is  mainly  made 
up  of  pages  and  tiring-maids,  commanded  by  a  weak 
woman  in  the  place  of  a  palsied  old  man." 

There  was  something  of  mockery  still  in  her  tone ;  but 
only  enough  to  be  pleasantly  provocative,  no  trace  of  the 
cold  disdain  that  had  marked  her  first  speech.  Once  more 
Brakespeare's  heart  leaped  up  under  his  corslet,  as  he 
bowed  low  in  acknowledgment.  But  when,  before  set- 


256  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

ting  foot  on  the  drawbridge,  he  faced  around  on  his  fol- 
lowers, his  speech  was  curt  and  stern  as  usual. 

"Mark  me  now,  sirs:  I  have  not  periled  my  life  here 
for  naught.  I  know  not  how  long  it  may  suit  me  to  hold 
this  castle;  but  I  purpose  not  to  yield  it  again  without 
sufficient  ransom  in  the  which  ye  all  will  have  due  share. 
Howbeit,  I  give  ye  fair  warning  that  I  will  have  no 
brawl  or  license  here,  much  less  rough  usage  of  women 
or  weaklings.  I  quarrel  not  with  an  honest  carouse ; 
but  if  ye  break  bounds,  look  to  it.  He  who  offends  in 
such  wise  shall  have  shorter  time  to  repent  himself  than 
had  Jean  Cabestal,  near  Trevoux.  Ye  have  not  for- 
gotten how  it  fared  with  him.  Now,  let  half  of  your 
number  fall  back  and  bring  up  the  destriers  and  the  rest 
follow  me  orderly." 

Even  while  he  was  speaking,  the  great  gates  beyond 
the  drawbridge  swung  slowly  open ;  and  the  Free  Com- 
panions filed  into  the  base-court  two  abreast. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

BEWITCHED. 

IR  RALPH  BRAKESPEARE  stood  in  the  base-court 
— leaning  on  his  great  epee  d'armes,  which 
he  had  girt  on  again — whilst  his  men  formed 
into  two  ranks,  much  like  a  modern  com- 
pany taking  open  order.  He  was  puzzled  by  a  certain 
embarrassment  and  uncertainty  as  to  what  step  was  next 
to  be  taken.  He  did  not  care  to  force  himself  into  the 
presence  of  the  chatelaine  in  the  rough  guise  of  a 
victorious  enemy ;  yet  he  felt  keenly  the  absurdity  of  re- 
versing their  real  positions.  He  was  not  bewitched 
enough  as  yet  to  forget  that  with  romantic  chivalry  a 
Free  Companion  had  naught  to  do.  So  he  pondered, 
till  his  reverie  was  broken  by  the  voice  of  the  ancient 
seneschal,  praying  him  to  visit  the  Countess  in  her  pres- 
ence-chamber. 

Bertha  de  la  Roche  Dagon  was  sitting  in  a  chair  of 
state,  carved  with  armorial  bearings,  at  the  upper  end  of 
the  presence-chamber ;  behind  her  several  of  her  house- 
hold— both  male  and  female,  were  ranged  in  a  half-circle. 
All  of  these  were  more  or  less  richly  attired ;  but  one  was 
distinguished  from  the  rest,  not  only  by  the  gorgeousness 
of  the  dress,  but  by  his  singular  perfection  of  form  and 
feature — a  tall,  slim  page,  who  stood  close  to  his  mis- 
tress' shoulder,  with  a  flush  of  anger  on  his  clear,  olive 
cheeks,  and  angry  fire  in  his  big  black  eyes.  He  was 
gnawing  his  lips,  too,  like  one  who  had  been  sharply  chid- 


_'58  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

den,  and  would  fain  answer  if  he  dared.  As  the  English- 
man entered,  the  lady  rose  and  advanced  to  meet  him. 
Even  in  those  few  steps  the  wondrous  grace  of  her  gait 
was  visible ;  though,  till  she  moved,  none  would  have  be- 
lieved that  a  figure  so  tall  and  stately  could  sway  itself 
so  lissomely.  The  close  tunic  of  dark  blue  velvet,  bor- 
dered with  gold,  over  a  silken  skirt  of  a  paler  shade,  did 
justice  to  her  superb  bust,  and  to  a  waist — girlish  still — 
though  the  lady  was  in  the  prime  of  womanhood. 

"I  pray  you  believe,  Sir  Knight," — she  said, — "that  I 
design  not  to  cozen  you  of  your  rights.  Soft  words  pass 
not  for  coin,  I  know  ;  and  in  fair  gold  pieces  shall  our  ran- 
som be  paid,  if  ye  will  be  patient  with  us.  Entreat  us 
ever  so  roughly — we  can  do  no  more.  We  are  prisoners 
rendered  to  your  mercy ;  yet  I  think  we  shall  find  no 
churlish  gaoler.  Suffer  me  for  this  one  night  to  do  the 
honors  of  my  poor  dwelling,  as  though  it  were  still  mine 
own.  You  shall  not  fare  the  worse,  for  sitting  as  guest 
where  you  might  lord  it  as  master." 

The  strong  soldier  whom  she  addressed  colored  like  a 
bashful  boy,  as  he  muttered  some  broken  sentences  of  as- 
surance, to  the  effect  that  no  violence  need  be  feared  from 
his  band,  and  that  all  in  the  castle,  even  to  the  lowest, 
should  be  gently  and  honorably  dealt  with.  Further- 
more, he  prayed  the  Countess  to  order  the  household,  for 
the  present  in  all  things  as  heretofore.  Then,  under 
pretext  of  looking  to  the  bestowal  of  his  men  and 
their  horses,  he  withdrew,  carrying  with  him  some  whis- 
pered words  of  thanks,  and  followed  by  a  glance  and 
smile  which  conveyed  something  more  than  the  thistle- 
down promises  of  coquetry. 

When  the  door  was  fairly  closed,  the  Countess  Bertha 
turned  towards  her  household. 

"All  goes  fairly  thus  far," — she  said.  "See  that  noth- 
ing be  lacking  to  keep  these  English  strangers  in  good 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  259 

humor,  and  above  all,  that  our  supper  be  rightly  set  forth. 
And,  Mathilde,  see  that  they  make  ready  the  white  robe 
bordered  with  seed  pearl.  I  would  be  brave  to- 
night. Now,  leave  me  all.  Stay — Rene,  do  thou  wait. 
I  have  a  special  errand  for  thee." 

For  some  moments  after  they  were  alone,  the  Countess 
gazed  at  her  page  with  a  kind  of  indolent  curiosity  and 
disdain. 

"Art  thou  mad?"  she  said,  at  last, — "to  give  rein  to 
thy  malapert  humor  in  other's  presence?  Also,  I  fain 
would  know  what  made  thy  seigniorie  so  sullen.  How 
long  would  the  gates  have  stood  when  the  drawbridge 
was  down?  Wouldst  thou  have  made  all  here  incur  the 
hazard  of  sack  and  pillage ;  and  should  I  bandy  words 
of  defiance  with  this  knight,  when  smooth  words  are 
as  easy  to  speak?" 

The  page  stamped  his  foot  petulantly.  In  truth,  his 
manner  was  rather  that  of  a  jealous  lover  than  of  a 
spoiled  domestic. 

"As  easy  to  speak — I  doubt  not  that.  Also,  it  was 
easy  enough  to  bid  them  forbear  shooting,  when,  in 
another  second,  Giles  Montigny  would  have  sent  a  bolt 
through  the  freebooter's  thigh.  The  bridge  was  not  down 
then,  I  wot." 

She  smiled,  rather,  it  seemed,  at  her  own  thoughts  than 
at  his  speech. 

"  'Tis  better  as  it  is.  I  had  scarce  forgiven  myself  if 
so  proper  a  knight  had  been  maimed  under  mine  eyes. 
Pardi,  I  mind  not  when  I  looked  upon  his  fellow." 

Rene  D'Andelot's  heart  grew  sick  within  him  as  he 
saw  her  face  soften  into  a  languid  tenderness,  whilst  her 
eyelids  drooped,  and  the  scarlet  lips  parted,  like  those 
of  one  wrapped  in  a  pleasant  dream.  He  knew  how  to 
interpret  those  signs  only  too  well. 

"J_,et  him  look  to  himself,"  he  said  hoarsely.    "If  he 


260  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

but  look  on  thee  over  boldly  to-night,  I  will  see  if  his 
skin  be  dagger  proof.  Let  them  hang  me  from  the  bat- 
tlements an  hour  after.  I  care  not." 

Her  eyes  opened,  wide  and  scornful. 

"Thou  foolish  malapert.  Thinkest  thou  I  cannot  guard 
mine  own  honor ;  or  that  if  I  chose  to  take  new  paramour, 
thou  shouldst  hinder  me?  Know,  that  if  I  have  graced 
thee  above  thy  merit,  thou  art  none  the  less  my  sworn 
servitor.  Howbeit,  I  were  loath  to  see  thee  harmed.  Be 
not  so  rash  as  to  measure  thyself  against  him.  He  would 
crush  thee,  like  a  gadfly  in  his  gauntlet.  Now,  away  with 
thee.  I  have  weightier  matters  on  hand  than  the  appeas- 
ing of  thy  peevish  humors." 

The  page  threw  back  his  handsome  head.  At  first  it 
seemed  as  if  the  mere  pride  of  manhood  asserted  itself 
against  the  cruel  cynicism,  but  he  either  lacked  the  nerve, 
or  feared  to  trust  himself  to  speak.  After  one  long,  ap- 
pealing look,  under  which  the  lady's  face  neither  quailed 
nor  softened,  he  turned  and  left  the  room  hurriedly. 

The  Free  Companions,  when  outward  bound,  were  not 
wont  to  be  burdened  with  much  baggage.  Nevertheless, 
they  carried  always  some  few  sumpter  beasts  in  their 
train ;  and  Sir  Ralph  Brakespeare  was  not  so  ill-provided 
but  that  he  was  able  to  exchange  the  coarse  jerkin  and 
hose  usually  worn  under  harness,  for  more  suitable  gar- 
ments before  he  again  appeared  in  the  chatelaine's 
presence. 

Whilst  this  was  a-doing,  said  the  knight  to  the  esquire : 

"How  likest  thou  our  lodging,  Will ;  and  what  think- 
est  thou  of  the  dame  who  rendered  herself  so  graciously  ?" 

"The  lodging  is  fair  enough  after  a  fashion," — the 
other  answered,  doggedly ;  "yet,  under  your  worship's 
pleasure,  I  should  care  not  to  abide  long  here.  Certes, 
the  dame  is  fair  enough  after  a  fashion  too ;  yet " 

Ralph  turned  sharp  round  on  his  follower. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  261 

"Thy  trick  of  grumbling  is  past  the  healing  else  should 
I  be  wroth  with  thee.  Thou  hast  haunted  taverns  and 
followed  ribaudes  till  thou  art  unfit  to  judge  of  aught 
more  delicate.  Where,  I  prithee,  hast  thou  ever  looked 
on  beauty  that  could  compare  with  the  Countess 
Bertha's?" 

"  'Tis  somewhat  hard,  messire" — Lanyon  muttered, 
"that  your  worship  first  requires  my  opinion,  and  then 
should  quarrel  with  it  Tis  a  rare  face,  I  own,  and  I  know 
not  that  I  have  seen  it  matched  in  flesh  and  blood ;  but  ye 
must  needs  remember  that  picture  hanging  in  the  Abbey 
church  of  Hautvaux — brought  from  Italy,  I  have  heard 
— wherein  the  temptations  of  the  blessed  Saint  Anthony 
is  set  forth.  Marry,  over  the  holy  man's  shoulder  there 
hangs  a  thing  that — even  to  the  color  of  the  hair  or  eyes 
— might  stand  for  the  portrait  of  this  brave  dame." 

"Tush!"  Brakespeare  broke  in,  in  undisguised  anger 
now — "I  was  fool  to  question  thee.  Keep  thy  murmurs 
of  ill-omen  to  thyself,  I  charge  thee ;  and  spread  not  dis- 
content in  our  band.  Be  not  too  liberal  of  the  wine-cup 
to-night.  I  would  not  that  any  of  our  men  over-stepped 
decent  bounds ;  and  I  think  thy  brains  are  wool-gather- 
ing already.  I  bade  Gilbert  Fleming  have  the  drawbridge 
repaired.  That  gear  must  be  all  in  order  ere  'tis  fully 
night-fall.  See  to  it  presently.  Likewise  have  the  keys 
in  safe  keeping.  I  have  no  further  need  of  thee  here." 

The  sturdy  soldier  shook  his  ears  like  a  great  hound 
that  has  been  sharply  chidden  or  chastised. 

"I  am  no  breeder  of  mutinies" — he  answered — "and 
no  drunkard  or  brawler.  Had  I  guessed  your  knight- 
hood would  have  chafed  thereat,  I  had  kept  my  unsavory 
comparison  betwixt  my  teeth ;  or,  for  the  matter  of  that, 
I  would  have  likened  the  lady  to  one  of  heaven's  angels. 
I  will  about  that  smith's  work  now.  It  will  be  supper- 


262  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

time  soon,  and  the  storm  will  scarce  hold  off  another 
hour." 

If  the  Castle  of  La  Roche  Dagon  had  harbored  honored 
and  welcome  guests,  the  tables  could  scarce  have  been 
more  richly  or  carefully  set  forth  than  they  were  for  that 
evening  meal.  The  Countess  Bertha  was  either  too 
proud,  or  too  politic,  to  make  pretense  of  poverty  which 
might  scarce  have  been  believed.  The  eyes  of  many 
a  freebooter  glistened  greedily,  as  they  roved  over  mas- 
sive tankards,  salvers,  and  ewers  of  rich  plate  scattered 
over  the  board  with  seeming  carelessness,  almost  hiding 
the  napery  of  the  cross-table  on  the  dais  at  which  the 
chatelaine  sate,  with  a  vacant  chair  on  either  side.  Close 
behind  her  stood  two  female  attendants,  and  Rene  D'An- 
delot,  the  page.  Only  six  covers  in  all  were  laid  at  that 
table ;  three  of  these  were  designed  for  the  knight  who 
had  held  parley  at  the  battlements,  and  two  others  of  like 
degree — also  somewhat  advanced  in  years — whose  pen- 
nons were  ranged  under  the  banner  of  La  Roche  Dagon. 

Brakespeare  came  in  somewhat  late.  Albeit  he  had 
full  trust  in  Lanyon,  he  chose  to  go  the  rounds  himself, 
and  see  that  the  guards — all  of  his  own  men — were  duly 
set.  The  Countess  Bertha's  glances  had  wandered  more 
than  once  impatiently  towards  the  door  by  which  he 
needs  must  enter;  and,  as  the  English  knight  advanced 
up  the  body  of  the  hall,  they  rested  on  him,  first  critically, 
then  approvingly.  In  very  truth,  it  would  have  been 
hard  to  light  on  a  finer  ensample  of  mature  manhood  than 
Ralph  presented  at  this  time.  His  plain,  close-fitting 
dress  displayed,  perhaps  to  more  advantage  than  gor- 
geous or  quaintly-fashioned  apparel  would  have  done,  his 
deep  square  chest  and  long  sinewy  limbs.  He  bore  him- 
self erect  and  lightsomely,  like  one  trained  by  unceasing 
exercise ;  and  his  step  was  quick  and  springy,  like  that 
of  one  used  to  the  weight  of  harness,  and  rejoicing  in  tin- 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  263 

wonted  freedom — as  in  obedience  to  the  chatelaine's  ges- 
ture, he  approached,  and  seated  himself  in  the  chair  on 
her  left  hand. 

She  saw  his  glance  turn  inquiringly  to  the  still  vacant 
chair  on  her  right,  and  answered  it. 

"It  hath  been  so,  these  two  years,  yea,  ever  since  the 
good  lord,  my  husband,  was  stricken  with  the  palsy.  For 
we  cease  not  to  hope  that  he  will  one  day  be  enabled  to 
sit  in  his  old  place  and  rule  his  own  household  again ; 
though  'tis  weary  work  waiting  on  him,  and  he  seems 
past  mediciner's  skill." 

A  little  sigh  rounded  off  the  speech ;  but  there  was  no 
sign  of  rooted  sorrow  on  the  lady's  face.  Perchance 
time  had  worn  off  the  keen  edge  of  her  domestic  troubles, 
or  she  had  found  distraction,  if  not  consolation,  for 
nothing  could  be  gayer  than  her  humor  henceforward. 
It  was  wonderful  to  see  with  what  tact  she  smoothed 
away  the  difficulties  of  her  position,  contriving  to  recon- 
cile the  courtesy  of  the  hostess  with  the  humility  of  the 
captive.  All  the  while  the  byplay  of  eloquent  glances, 
and  of  lithe  white  hands,  so  graceful  in  their  restlessness, 
went  on,  till  Ralph's  blood  waxed  hotter  than  could  be 
accounted  for  by  the  rich  wine  which  he  drank  not  spar- 
ingly ;  and  he  could  scarce  forbear  a  start  and  a  shiver, 
when  her  sleeve — by  chance,  so  it  seemed — brushed  his. 
Rene  D'Andelot's  handsome  face  waxed  wan  and  grey, 
and  prematurely  aged,  in  its  look  of  pain. 

There  was  deep  carouse  in  the  body  of  the  hall,  but  the 
Free  Companions — partly  from  fear  of  their  leader, 
partly  in  deference  to  the  presence  in  which  they  sat — in- 
dulged in  no  rude  license  or  loudness  of  talk,  and  pledged 
the  Burgundians  of  La  Roche  Dagon  as  cordially  as  if 
they  had  fed  and  feasted  side  by  side  for  years. 

Supper  was  nearly  over,  when  Lanyon — who  had  been 
absent  for  some  short  space — returned.  His  beard  was 


264  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

dank,  his  garments  splashed  with  rain,  and  his  whole 
bearing  seemed  more  bluff  and  uncouth  than  usual.  Ad- 
vancing to  the  dais  with  rather  scant  ceremony,  he  laid 
a  huge  bunch  of  keys  on  the  table  before  his  leader.  The 
knight  bit  his  lip,  frowning: — 

"I  beseech  you,  pardon  my  follower's  rudeness,  noble 
lady.  Tis  a  clumsy  knave,,  though  an  honest.  When 
I  bade  him  have  the  keys  in  charge,  I  wist  not  that  he 
would  clash  them  down  here  thus  unmannerly — as  if  this, 
your  castle,  were  a  prison,  and  I  your  chief  gaoler!" 

The  Countess  laid  her  little  hand  on  his  wrist,  very 
lightly — yet  not  so  lightly,  but  that  it  set  his  strong  pulses 
bounding — and  bent  over  till  her  heavy  red-gold  braids 
brushed  his  cheek. 

"And  if  it  were  so?"  she  murmured — "I  have  heard  of 
prisons  so  pleasant,  and  the  gaolers  so  gentle,  that  the 
captive  cared  not  to  go  forth  when  the  gates  were  un- 
barred. Perchance  I  may  pine  hereafter;  but  'tis  long 
since  I  have  felt  so  light  of  heart  as  I  do  this  night.  Ah ! 
if  you  knew  how  dull  and  dreary  La  Roche  Dagon  has 
been,  this  many  a  day " 

For  several  seconds  Ralph  was  silent.  When  he  an- 
swered, it  was  in  the  same  undertone,  and  thencefor- 
ward the  converse  of  the  twain  became  more  confidential. 
This  was  noted  by  others  beside  Rene  D'Andelot.  Ma- 
thilde  and  Jeanne  exchanged  smiles  and  meaning  glances, 
and  freebooter  nudged  Burgundian  in  the  body  of  the 
hall,  muttering  rude  jests  and  coarse  surmises ;  but  of 
these  signs  of  intelligence  neither  the  knight  nor  the  lady 
took  heed ;  nor,  had  the  Countess  Bertha  been  aware 
thereof,  would  they  have  troubled  her  a  whit.  When  the 
game  was  fairly  afoot  that  daring  huntress  of  Man  would 
press  it  through  the  heart  of  a  crowd,  no  less  than  through 
a  solitude ;  and  shrank  no  more  from  the  display  of  her 
caprice  than  did  Cleopatra  or  Faustina,  when,  in  presence 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  265 

of  a  thousand  courtly  sycophants — they  leaned  on  a  fresh 
favorite's  breast.  She  could  not  even  spare  a  glance  for 
the  unhappy  boy  whose  caresses  were  scarcely  cold  on 
her  cheek,  though  his  face  might  have  moved  a  devil's 
pity,  as  he  stood  there,  behind  her  shoulder,  driving  his 
nails  into  his  palms  as  if  he  would  abate  agony  of  mind 
by  the  body's  pain. 

It  was  more  the  habit  of  courtly  training,  than  because 
she  cared  for  excuse  or  disguise,  that  caused  her  to  say 
aloud  as  she  rose  to  withdraw — 

"I  leave  you  to  the  wine-cup,  now,  beau  chevalier.  If 
you  weary  thereof,  and  care  to  listen  to  the  lute,  Jeanne 
here  strikes  it  right  deftly,  and  Mathilde's  voice  is  sweeter 
at  least  than  the  brawling  of  the  wind  without.  You  will 
be  right  welcome  in  my  bower-chamber." 

As  Ralph  rose  and  drew  back  to  give  the  lady  passage, 
their  hands  met.  If  the  contact  was  accidental,  not  so 
was  the  pressure  of  the  slender  fingers  that  tingled 
through  his  arms  to  the  shoulder-blade. 

Legends  speak  of  magical  palaces  and  gardens  where 
the  actual  presence  of  the  enchanter  was  needed  to  make 
the  jewels  sparkle  and  the  flowers  bloom  and  where — this 
wanting — everything  became  again  scentless,  colorless, 
tasteless.  Of  just  such  a  dreary  change  the  Free  Com- 
panion was  sensible,  as  the  door  closed  behind  dame  and 
demoiselles.  A  dull  grey  mist  seemed  to  fall  suddenly 
over  the  banqueting-hall,  and  he  was  sorely  tempted  to 
rise  and  follow  instantly.  But  a  vague  shame  and  sense 
of  ridicule  withheld  him ;  so  he  enforced  himself  to  re- 
main and  carry  on  some  formal  talk  with  the  Burgundian 
knights,  who,  on  their  part,  were  little  disposed  to  be 
either  convivial  or  communicative.  They  were  not  only 
discontented  at  the  rendering  of  the  castle  without  a  blow, 
but  very  anxious  concerning  their  own  ransom,  for  they 
knew  enough  of  their  wilful  Countess,  to  be  sure  that,  in 


266  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

making  terms  for  herself,  she  would  not  be  over  careful 
of  the  interests  of  her  retainers. 

Ralph  further  appeased  his  conscience  by  going  round 
the  guards  with  Lanyon  when  he  rose  from  supper.  The 
storm  had  come  on  in  earnest,  and  a  thick  mantle  was 
hardly  proof  against  the  fierce,  driving  rain ;  so  that  the 
squire  could  not  wonder  that  the  rounds  were  hurriedly 
made.  Neither  did  he  marvel,  though  he  was  very  ill 
pleased,  when  he  was  told  that  his  services  would  be 
needed  no  more  that  night.  He  gazed  after  his  master  as 
the  other  strode  away  with  the  haste  of  one  who  cares  not 
to  be  questioned,  and  crossing  himself  devoutly,  ex- 
claimed : — 

"Now,  may  Heaven  stand  this  night  betwixt  him  and 
harm !  Unless  there  be  special  grace  to  help,  he  will 
scarce  come  out  of  it  like  good  Saint  Anthony." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A  RERE-SUPPER. 

HE  bower-chamber  at  La  Roche  Dagon  was 
both  large  and  lofty ;  yet  there  was  nothing 
there  of  ponderous  grandeur.  The  walls  to 
half  their  height  were  covered  with  soft  arras 
hangings  of  bright  colors,  skillfully  blended,  and  the  rich 
furniture  was  designed  rather  for  ease  and  idlesse  than 
for  pomp  and  parade.  Indeed,  about  the  whole  apart- 
ment there  was  an  air  of  Saracenic  luxury ;  and  this  was 
increased  by  the  subdued  light  of  waxen  tapers,  and  by 
the  perfumed  vapors  ascending  in  light-blue  cloudlets 
from  two  quaintly-carved  silver  thuribles.  The  chamber 
was  sufficiently  lighted  in  the  daytime  by  a  single  win- 
dow, not  of  stiff  lancet  shape,  but  with  broad  casements 
between  the  mullions,  and  with  flowing  tracery  above 
of  arch  and  quatrefoil,  looking  over  the  deepest  part  of 
the  ravine. 

On  a  couch,  so  broad  and  low  that  it  might  almost  be 
called  an  estrade,  the  chatelaine  reclined.  The  back- 
ground of  amaranth  velvet  enhanced  the  effect  of  a 
brilliant  complexion  and  dazzlingly  white  skin,  and 
brought  out  in  strong  relief  the  curves  of  a  superb  figure. 
And  on  hand  and  arm  there  was  flash  and  shimmer  of 
gems  as  she  swung  gently  to  and  fro  a  delicate  gold  han- 
dled fan  of  flamingo  feathers.  Ralph  Brakespeare  did 
not  mar  the  effect  of  the  fair  picture,  sitting  on  a  cushion 
close  to  the  lady's  feet,  his  elbow  resting  on  the  estrade. 


268  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

His  dress,  as  has  been  said  before,  became  him  right  well 
though  it  was  perfectly  plain;  the  only  ornament  he 
wore  was  the  chain,  Sir  Simon  Dynevor's  gift.  A  thin 
thread  of  gold  that  supported  Marguerite  de  Hacque- 
mont's  cross,  was  scarce  visible  round  his  neck  and  the 
cross  itself  was  hidden  in  his  doublet.  Within  the  last 
few  hours,  Ralph  had  marvelously  changed.  The  lines 
of  his  visage,  usually  hard  and  stern,  had  softened,  and 
in  his  outward  guise  he  no  more  resembled  the  rough 
chevaucheur  who  summoned  La  Roche  Dagon  to  surren- 
der, than  does  the  Emir,  issuing  curled  and  perfumed 
from  his  bath,  the  dusty  wayfarer  across  the  desert. 

The  lute-playing  and  singing  were  done ;  and  though 
the  demoiselles  d'  honneur  still  remained  in  presence, 
they  were  withdrawn  discreetly  out  of  earshot.  Near 
a  table  in  another  corner,  whereon  conserves  and  wines 
of  divers  sorts  were  placed,  Rene  D'Andelot  leant  against 
the  wall ;  his  head  bent  low  on  his  breast,  and  seemingly 
taking  no  heed  of  anything  that  was  passing;  but  in  his 
face  there  was  a  black  look,  half  cunning,  half  vicious, 
more  dangerous  than  its  late  suppressed  fury.  And  all 
the  while  the  storm  raged  on  outside ;  and  from  the 
gorge  beneath  there  came  up  a  sound,  like  the  roaring 
of  a  great  sea,  from  the  tormented  pines.  The  converse 
betwixt  those  two  on  the  estrade  had  for  some  time  past 
been  low  and  often  broken;  indeed,  it  may  well  be  that 
either  spoke  often  at  random  without  fully  realizing  the 
import  of  the  words.  At  length  the  lady  roused  herself 
impatiently  as  if  she  would  fain  have  shaken  off  some 
overpowering  influence. 

"I  know  not  if  it  is  the  tempest  loading  the  air," — she 
said :  "but  I  feel  strangely  athirst  and  my  lips  are  parched. 
Rene,  give  me  to  drink  of  yon  sherbet ;  and  this  fair 
knight  shall  pledge  me  in  a  beaker  of  Cyprus  wine." 

With  an  unsteady  hand  the  youth  performed  his  mis- 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  269 

tress'  bidding — or,  rather,  half  thereof — for  the  salver, 
which  he  presented  kneeling  bore  only  one  cup. 

The  Countess  looked  sharply  at  her  page  as  she  took  it. 

"Didst  thou  not  hear  me  aright  when  I  said  Sir  Ralph 
Brakespeare  would  pledge  me?  Wherefore  hast  thou 
not  poured  for  him  also?" 

Rene  D'Andelot  rose  hastily  and  answered — looking 
not  at  his  mistress,  but  full  at  the  Free  Companion — 

"Very  noble  dame,  as  you  said  rightly  to-night,  I  am 
your  sworn  servitor,  in  matters  small  or  great,  for  life 
or  for  death ;  but  to  this  Englishman  owe  I  neither  service 
nor  homage.  Let  him  pour  for  himself  an  he  list.  He 
shall  die  of  draught  ere  I  aid  him  to  slake  his  thirst." 

Never,  since  he  went  near  to  beard  his  own  father  in 
his  own  hall,  had  Ralph  Brakespeare  endured  insolence 
of  word,  look,  or  gesture,  from  any  man ;  and  of  late 
he  had  been  so  accustomed  to  see  others  bow  themselves 
to  his  will  that  for  an  instant  or  two  he  felt  more  sur- 
prised than  angry.  But  he  checked  his  rising  choler,  re- 
membering from  whom  the  provocation  came.  The 
ridicule  of  a  serious  quarrel  with  that  slender  stripling 
struck  him  at  once,  and  he  even  tried  to  avert  the  storm 
gathering  on  the  chatelaines  brow. 

"Nay,  chafe  not,  gentlest  lady,  nor  hold  yourself  ac- 
countable for  your  menial's  discourtesy.  If  I  war  not 
with  women,  I  brawl  not  with  boys.  Perchance  yon 
springald  will  learn  better  manners  ere  we  part  company ; 
but  'tis  not  in  your  presence  I  would  give  him  the  lesson. 
The  Cyprus  wine  will  not  lose  its  savor,  or  I  pledge  you 
with  less  good  will,  if  I  be  mine  own  cup-bearer." 

The  wrath  of  the  beautiful  tyrant  was  not  so  easily 
appeased.  It  was  strange  to  see  how  the  melting  hazel 
eyes  roused  themselves  from  languor,  and  froze  into 
cruelty,  as  they  were  riveted  on  their  victim. 

"I  am  partly  to  blame" — she  said — "for  not  having  be- 


270  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

fore  chastised  thy  malapert  humors.  But  this  shall  be 
speedily  amended  and  by  sharp  schooling.  Begone  now ; 
and  presume  not  to  appear  again  in  my  presence,  till  thou 
hast  learned  to  comport  thyself  as  beseems  thy  station. 
And  ye,  too,  Jeanne  and  Mathilde,  may  retire.  I  would 
confer  with  this  knight  touching  ransom  and  other  grave 
matters,  alone.  Ye  may  wait  my  coming  in  my  tiring- 
chamber." 

The  last  words  were  spoken  carelessly ;  yet  with  a  kind 
of  defiance.  It  was  evident  that  anger  had  only  made  her 
more  recklessly  bent  on  the  accomplishing  of  her  way- 
ward will.  Once  again  Rene  D'Andelot  seemed  tempted 
to  open  revolt  and  once  again  his  nerve  failed  him ;  but 
as  he  bowed  his  head  in  mock  humility  and  withdrew, 
there  came  over  his  face  the  same  set,  vicious  look  that 
had  possessed  it  a  while  ago. 

So,  for  the  first  time,  those  two  were  alone  together. 
It  could  scarcely  be  of  ransom  or  such  solemn  matters 
that  they  were  speaking  in  those  low  murmurs — broken 
by  gaps  of  silence,  more  and  more  prolonged.  Their 
heads  drew  so  perilously  close  together  that  the  red-gold 
tresses  almost  touched  the  crisp  brown  curls ;  and  the 
lady's  round  white  arm  leaned  against,  as  if  it  did  not 
actually  press,  the  puissant  shoulder  of  her  companion. 
The  turmoil  in  Brakespeare's  blood  waxed  hotter  and 
hotter.  He  had  never  in  all  his  life  before  been  proved 
by  stronger  temptation  than  may  be  found  in  light  and 
facile  amours ;  furthermore,  he  had  almost  forgotten  the 
sound  of  a  high-born  woman's  voice,  and  such  an  one 
would  have  carried  dangerous  music  even  had  it  spoken 
commonplaces.  His  senses  had  not  been  so  blunted  by 
rough  camp-life  as  to  be  unable  to  appreciate  keenly 
the  appliances  of  luxury  around  him ;  he  cared  not  to 
resist  the  delicious  languor  stealing  over  him  and  half 
closed  his  eyes  as  though  the  vaporous  incense  drowsed 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  271 

them.  When  he  opened  them  again,  they  met  other  eyes 
glancing  downward,  with  a  challenge  that  the  veriest 
novice  could  scarce  have  misunderstood,  or  the  sternest 
saint  resisted,  even  had  his  last  draught  been  pressed 
from  nenuphar  instead  of  purple  Cyprus  grapes.  Nearer 
and  lower  the  lovely  witch-face  bowed  itself,  till  fragrant 
breath  was  warm  on  his  cheek ;  nearer  and  nearer  yet, 
till  moist  crimson  lips  were  laid  on  his  own,  and  clung 
there  thirstingly. 

The  caress  was  scarce  begun,  when  from  the  farther 
side  of  the  chamber  there  came  a  rustle  as  of  arras 
violently  torn  aside ;  and,  though  Brakespeare  sprang  to 
his  feet  with  the  dexterity  of  one  familiar  with  sudden 
danger,  he  was  only  just  in  time.  With  one  bound  Rene 
D'Andelot  cleared  the  space  between  the  secret  door  by 
which  he  had  found  entrance  and  the  estrade,  and  struck 
full  at  the  Free  Companion's  broad  breast  with  a  long 
poignard ;  but,  swift  as  was  the  onset,  Ralph  yet  had 
time  to  ward  the  blow,  and  caught  the  thin  keen  blade 
in  his  left  fore-arm  which  it  pierced  from  side  to  side. 
The  next  second,  without  the  semblance  of  a  wrestle,  the 
page  was  down  under  his  enemy's  knee. 

Brakespeare's  countenance  could  be  stern  and  menacing 
enough  at  times ;  but  seldom,  even  in  heat  of  battle, 
had  it  expressed  actual  ferocity,  and  surely  never  had  it 
been  so  possessed  by  such  a  murderous  devil  as  now, 
when,  pressing  his  knee  firmer  on  the  writhing  figure 
beneath  him,  and  setting  his  teeth,  more  in  wrath  than 
in  pain,  he  drew  the  dagger  slowly  out  of  the  wound. 
Not  much  blood  followed ;  for  it  was  chiefly  a  cordage 
of  muscles  that  the  steel  had  penetrated;  and  the  limb, 
for  the  moment  at  least,  was  not  disabled ;  for  the  page 
was  caught  up  like  an  infant  in  the  other's  mighty  grasp, 
and  as  the  Free  Companion  strode  towards  the  oriel  win- 
dow, he  muttered  aloud: 


272  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

"Thou  gay  hornet,  we  will  be  troubled  no  more  with 
thy  stinging,  and  thou  shalt  have  thy  lesson  for  once  and 
aye." 

And  all  this  while  Bertha  de  La  Roche  Dagon  bore 
herself  thus :  she  frowned  slightly  at  the  first  rustle  of 
the  arras,  partly,  perhaps,  chafing  at  the  untimely  in- 
trusion, partly  vexed  at  her  own  imprudence  in  having 
forgotten  to  draw  the  bolt  of  •  the  masked  door ;  but  she 
never  shrieked,  or  trembled,  or  shrank  during  the  brief 
struggle,  only  her  lips  parted  eagerly  and  the  pupils  of 
her  great  hazel  eyes  dilated,  like  those  of  some  beautiful 
tigress,  who,  from  under  the  shadow  of  a  date-palm, 
watches  the  yellow  sand  flying  up  round  the  death-duel 
that  is  to  decide  which  of  the  two  tawny  rivals  shall  be  her 
mate.  Neither  uid  she  disturb  the  indolent  grace  of  her 
attitude,  much  less  interfere  by  word  or  gesture,  though 
she  guessed  at  Brakespeare's  fell  purpose  before  he  tore 
open  the  casement  with  his  left  hand. 

And  Rene  D'Andelot  guessed  at  his  doom.  He  had 
looked  forth  from  that  window  often  enough  to  have 
measured  the  depth  of  the  hideous  chasm.  He  could 
remember,  too,  what  a  shapeless,  battered  corpse  was 
lifted  from  the  boulders,  when  Chariot  was  seized  with  a 
dizzy  fit  and  fell  where  the  gorge  was  shallower  than 
here.  As  he  lay  pressed  back  against  the  window- 
ledge,  his  face  was  lashed  by  the  driving  rain,  and,  glanc- 
ing sidelong,  he  caught  glimpses  of  the  black  billows  of 
tossing  pine-boughs,  tossed  hither  and  thither  by  the  rav- 
ing wind.  No  marvel  that  he  struggled  with  a  strength 
and  obstinacy  surprising  in  one  so  delicate  of  frame, 
striving  to  strangle  his  enemy,  twining  his  slender  fingers 
round  his  adversary's  throat,  and  twisting  them  in  his 
doublet-collar  when  his  grasp  was  loosened.  Even  the 
spasms  of  despair  could  not  struggle  long  against  such 
awful  odds  of  weight  and  strength.  In  a  few  seconds, 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  273 

Brakespeare  had  wrenched  himself  loose,  and  one  long 
swing  of  his  brawny  arms  launched  the  unhappy  page 
sheer  into  the  air,  like  a  stone  from  a  petrary. 

Up  to  this  instant,  Rene  D'Andelot  had  fought  as  mute 
as  a  wildcat ;  but  now  there  went  up  through  the  dark- 
ness a  single  long  shriek,  rising  high  above  the  howling 
of  the  wind,  the  booming  of  the  pines,  and  the  roar  of  the 
mountain  stream,  swollen  to  a  torrent  now,  startling  the 
freebooters,  still  deep  in  carouse,  though  they  were  little 
apt  to  disquiet  themselves  at  sound  of  distress  or  pain. 
And  then  the  voice  of  the  storm  broke  out  more  savagely 
than  ever,  like  that  of  a  wild  beast  rejoicing  over  a  dainty 
morsel  just  cast  into  its  den. 

Even  Ralph  Brakespeare's  blood — heated  by  divers  evil 
passions — was  chilled  and  checked  as  he  listened ;  but  it 
rose  again  quickly  to  fever  heat  as  he  closed  the  casement 
and  turned  inwards  again  towards  the  estrade,  where 
Bertha  de  La  Roche  Dagon  lay. 

She  did  not  attempt  to  upbraid  him,  or  affect  regret  for 
the  deed  just  wrought;  but  rather  seemed  anxious  to 
make  herself  accessary  thereto ;  for  her  tongue  neither 
spared  endearments,  nor  her  eyes  promises,  as  she  bound 
his  arm  with  her  own  waist-scarf.  Then  the  intercepted 
caress  was  renewed  and  followed  by  many  another ;  and 
then — on  those  two  fell  the  rosy  cloud,  the  uttermost  skirts 
whereof  are  dark  with  sin.  Soon  the  green  wound  be- 
gan to  tingle  but  the  knight  felt  it  no  more  than  did 
Lancelot  the  smart  of  his  gashed  hand  after  the  grating 
was  once  wrenched  away  that  barred  him  from  Queen 
Guenever's  bower. 

Then,  and  for  many  a  day  after,  his  better  angel  gave 
place  to  Belial.  Yet  Ralph  did  experience  one  brief  pang 
of  remorse  and  shame,  when  he  marked  the  fragment  of 
a  thin  gold  chain  hanging  to  his  doublet  collar,  and  wist 


274  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

ihat  Marguerite  de  Hacquemont's  cross  was  either  lost 
in  the  black  ravine  or  locked  in  the  stiffened  ringers  of 
the  murdered  man. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

BEGUILED. 

«  _|ORNING  broke  still  and  cloudless,  as  though 
|VM  the  night  had  been  innocent  of  storm  or  crime. 
Of  the  last,  at  least,  no  proofs  remained,  for 
the  torrent  had  done  its  work  thoroughly ; 
and  Rene  d'  Andelot's  corpse,  after  making  sport  for 
eddy  and  rapid,  found  rest  at  last  in  a  black  pool  ten 
fathoms  deep  in  the  Rhone.  Yet  none  in  the  castle 
doubted  that  the  page  had  come  by  foul  play,  nor  by 
whose  hand  he  had  been  done  to  death ;  and  not  a  few — 
who,  while  he  lived,  had  hated  the  spoiled  favorite — 
thought  of  him  half  regretfully  now.  There  were  swollen 
eyelids  amongst  the  women  of  the  household.  Mathilde's 
cheeks  all  that  day  were  deathly  white ;  it  was  long  be- 
fore her  voice  was  in  tune  for  rondelai.  Some  even 
among  the  rough  freebooters  shrugged  their  shoulders 
and  looked  askance  at  their  leader,  when,  two  hours  be- 
fore noon,  he  appeared  in  the  midst  of  them. 

The  most  heedless  of  the  rentiers  could  not  fail  to 
detect  a  marked  change  in  Sir  Ralph  Brakespeare.  His 
manner,  usually  so  steady  and  cool,  was  hurried ;  his  eyes 
were  unnaturally  bright,  and  his  cheek  flushed  as  though 
with  fever ;  the  very  tone  of  his  voice  seemed  altered. 
He  scarcely  spoke  with  any  but  Lanyon  and  with  him 
very  briefly,  saying,  that  he  had  determined  to  tarry  at 
La  Roche  Dagon  till  the  ransom  of  the  castle  and  of  the 
three  Burgundian  knights  should  be  paid ;  but  that  these 


276  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

last  were  at  liberty  to  depart  on  their  parole  to  collect 
the  money  on  their  own  fiefs,  and  that  with  them  should 
go  forth  all  the  able  soldiery  of  the  garrison ;  so  that, 
even  with  less  careful  ward  than  the  Free  Companions 
were  like  to  keep,  there  should  be  no  danger  of  rescue 
from  within.  The  habits  of  discipline  and  submission 
were  too  deeply  rooted  in  Lanyon  to  allow  him  to  ques- 
tion; but  his  face  was  very  gloomy  as  he  listened,  and 
he  was  scarce  out  of  the  knight's  presence  when  his  dis- 
content broke  forth. 

"A  murrain  on  her  witch-face!  I  guessed  how  it 
would  be.  The  glamor  is  fairly  over  him  and  St.  Anthony 
himself  could  scarce  help  us  now.  The  ransom  should 
needs  be  heavy.  Thrice  its  tale  would  not  pay  for  the 
spoiling  of  the  best  lance  in  all  the  Free  Companies." 

From  that  day  an  utterly  new  life  began  for  Ralph 
Brakespeare.  His  world  thenceforth  was  bounded  by  the 
demesnes  of  La  Roche  Dagon ;  and  his  thoughts  seemed 
to  travel  no  further  than  his  feet.  He  was  scarcely  absent 
himself  from  the  Countess  Bertha's  presence,  even  for 
the  time  necessary  to  perform  the  light  duties  of  inspec- 
tion and  parade.  When  they  went  a  hawking,  he  was 
ever  close  at  her  bridle-rein ;  and  of  an  evening,  along 
the  castle  walls,  their  shadows  moved  side  by  side. 

Only  on  the  formal  visits  that  she  paid  to  her  husband's 
sick  chamber  was  Bertha  alone,  for  her  lover  would 
never  cross  its  threshold.  And  on  bright  warm  days, 
when  Count  Hugues'  chair  was  carried  forth  on  the  bat- 
tlements, if  Ralph  chanced  to  come  near  the  spot  where 
the  poor  paralytic  sat  blinking  in  the  sun,  he  would  turn 
hastily  away.  Besotted  and  bewitched  as  he  was,  he  was 
still  sufficiently  his  old  self  to  shrink  from  looking  on  the 
stricken  face  and  blanched  hair  of  the  man  whose  help- 
lessness he  had  dishonored.  He  never  confessed  these 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  277 

scruples  to  his  mistress,  for  he  cared  not  to  provoke  the 
light,  mocking  laugh  that  rose  to  her  lips  too  readily. 

There  is  no  such  thorough  bondage  as  that  of  these 
strong,    masculine    natures    when   it    is    once    complete. 
There  are  no  half  measures  in  their  folly  or  self-abandon- 
ment.   When  the  Danite — shorn  and  blind — toiled  in  the 
stifling  prison-house  of  Gaza,  he  was  not  a  verier  thrall 
than  on  that  summer  night,  in  the  Valley  of  Sorec,  when 
the  breeze  lifted  his  shaggy  locks  laid  on  Dalilah's  lap. 
Men,  tenfold  better  and  wiser  than  the  Free  Lance  have 
acted  in  the  spirit  of  Philip  Van  Arteveld : — 
"Now  be  they  armies,  cities,  peoples,  priests, 
That  quarrel  with  my  love — wise  men  and  fools, 
True  friends  or  foemen — they  but  waste  their  wrath, 
Their  wit,  their  words,  their  counsel.  Here  I  stand 
Upon  the  firm  foundation  of  my  faith, 
To  yon  fair  outcast  plighted ;  and  the  storm, 
That  Princes  from  their  palaces  shake  down — 
Though  it  should  vex  and  rend  me — should  not  strain 
The  seeming  silken  texture  of  that  tie." 
The  Burgundian  knights  returned,  bringing  the  due 
tale  of  their  ransom — that  of  the  castle  and  its  inmates 
had  been  ready  this  long  time — yet  Sir  Ralph  Brakespeare 
gave  no  signs  of  departure,  whereat  his  men  wondered 
at  first,  and  then  murmured.    It  would  have  been  irksome 
to  them  to  be  cooped  up  within  walls,  even  with  more 
distractions  to  idleness  than  could  be  found  at  La  Roche 
Dagon.     True  it  was  that  each  had  received  more  than 
his  full  share  of  the  ransom-money,  and  that  the  greediest 
could  scarce  quarrel  with  the  amount.    But  the  gold  that 
they   could   not   spend   burned   in   their   pouches ;   and, 
though  they  were   gorged   here   with   dainty   food  and 
drink,  they  came  to  think  there  was  more  savor  in  the 
flesh-pots  of  Anse,  and  in  the  wine  that  they  once  cursed 
as  ever  new.     There,  at  last,  they  could  carouse  after 


278  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

their  own  fashion,  unfettered  by  the  lightest  rules  of 
decorum;  whilst  here,  their  leader  seemed  determined 
to  monopolize  license. 

So  they  grumbled  and  growled  till  one  day  the  discon- 
tent came  to  a  head  and  Gilbert  Fleming  was  put  forth  to 
expound  it — a  sturdy  veteran  not  given  to  wild  debauch 
or  reckless  improvidence,  wherefore  he  stood  high  in  his 
captain's  favor,  who  trusted  him  next  to  his  own  body- 
squire.  The  routier  delivered  himself  of  his  mission 
warily  for  Brakespeare's  temper  had  grown  more  un- 
even of  late,  and  none  cared  to  provoke  it.  On  the  pres- 
ent occasion,  however,  the  knight  listened  patiently,  pon- 
dering awhile,  before  he  made  answer  in  his  old,  grave, 
calm  way : — 

"There  is  truth  and  reason  in  what  thou  sayest,  good 
comrade.  Neither  may  I  deny  that,  in  such  times,  'tis 
waste  of  approved  gens  d'armes,  to  keep  them  at  garrison 
of  a  fortress  whence  no  foray  is  made.  I  purpose  not  to 
ride  forth  hence  yet  awhile;  nevertheless,  all  such  as 
care  not  to  tarry  here  with  me  have  my  free  leave  to  be- 
take themselves  to  Anse  again.  I  doubt  not  still  bides 
there  Sir  John  Hawkwood — a  better  captain  than  I — 
who  will  receive  you  gladly.  When  I  return  thither — if 
ye  be  so  minded — ye  can  ride  under  my  pennon  again ; 
and,  forasmuch  as  ye  all  have  borne  yourselves  discreetly 
during  your  sojourn  here,  I  will  add  to  your  full  pay 
certain  largesse;  and  will  wish  you  heartily  'Good- 
Speed.'  " 

Gilbert  Fleming  could  have  looked  for  no  better  an- 
swer, yet  his  countenance  fell  when  he  told  it  to  his  fel- 
lows, and  he  seemed  inclined  to  quarrel  with  the  alacrity 
some  of  them  displayed  in  closing  with  their  leader's 
offer.  That  same  day,  before  noon,  the  Free  Lances 
were  mustered  in  the  courtyard  of  La  Roche  Dagon. 

Then  it  was  found  that  only  some  ten  or  twelve,  and 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  279 

these  by  no  means  the  choicest  of  the  band,  chose  to  re- 
main there,  and  share  Brakespeare's  fortunes  to  the  end — 
a  miserably  insufficient  garrison  for  the  place.  To  this 
effect  Gilbert  Fleming  expressed  himself.  Sir  Ralph 
Brakespeare  smiled  coldly. 

"Trouble  not  thyself  concerning  that.  It  may  be  that 
others  will  soon  draw  to  me  when  they  know  that  my 
pennon  is  pitched  here ;  and,  if  it  be  otherwise,  the  place 
is  right  easy  to  defend,  and  hard  to  assail.  While  the 
drawbridge  is  up  there  is  no  danger  of  surprise ;  and 
should  any  try  the  trick  of  the  rope  and  grappling-iron, 
the  mangonel  we  fixed  for  that  special  purpose  will  sweep 
them  off  like  flies.  We  are  amply  victualed,  too,  and  yon 
well  never  can  fail.  In  these  two  bags  is  the  largesse 
whereof  I  speak ;  see  ye  divide  it  fairly  at  your  first  halt, 
each  man  taking  his  share  without  wrangle.  And  now, 
Gilbert  Fleming,  lead  forth  thy  party  without  further 
parley.  Ye  are  late  on  the  road  already  if  ye  would  sleep 
at  Vertpre.  Fare  ye  well,  my  merry  men  all ;  and  fair 
chance  befall  you  till  we  foregather  again!" 

No  answer  came ;  and  the  Free  Companions  looked  at 
each  other  somewhat  shamefacedly,  as,  without  another 
word,  the  knight  turned  on  his  heel  and  mounted  the 
staircase  leading  to  the  presence-chamber  above.  But  the 
awkward  pause  did  not  last  long ;  and,  if  any  had  scruples 
at  leaving  his  leader  in  the  lurch,  they  soon  vanished  in 
speculations  as  to  the  probable  amount  of  largesse  and 
reckonings  as  to  how  many  carouses  it  would  furnish  at 
Anse.  None  guessed  at  the  heaviness  of  heart  that, 
despite  his  indifference,  real  or  assumed,  oppressed  Ralph 
Brakespeare,  as,  some  minutes  later,  he  leant  from  a 
window,  whence  a  last  twinkle  of  spearheads  was  visible 
in  the  skirts  of  the  woodland.  He  was  absolutely  proof 
against  fear,  and  had  no  thought  of  personal  peril,  yet  he 
could  not  shake  off  a  vague  sense  of  desolation  and  con- 


280  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

sciousness  of  folly.  So,  a  voyager  who,  left  by  his  own 
choice  alone  on  the  shore  of  some  marvelously  lovely 
tropical  isle  watches  the  white  sails  of  his  comrades'  vessel 
blending  with  the  purple  horizon ;  and  knows  that,  when 
they  return,  they  will,  perchance,  find  naught  to  bring 
away  but  a  heap  of  bones. 

The  knight's  reverie  was  broken  by  a  sound,  betwixt  a 
grunt  and  a  groan,  close  behind  him,  and,  turning  sharply, 
he  confronted  Lanyon,  before  the  other  had  time  to  clear 
his  countenance  of  its  gloom. 

"I  can  guess  wherefore  thou  art  here,"  Ralph  said, 
slowly  and  bitterly.  "To  complain,  doubtless.  Thou 
hast  done  so,  aforetime,  with  less  reason.  By  Saint  Giles ! 
I  marvel  thou  wentest  not  forth  with  the  rest.  This  place 
misliked  thee  from  the  first  and  matters  will  scarce  be 
mended  now." 

The  esquire  had  shifted  uneasily  at  first  under  his 
master's  glance,  like  one  detected  in  some  breach  of  good 
manners.  But  he  stood  his  ground  stoutly  enough  now. 

"It  pleases  your  worship  to  be  merry.  I  am  dull  at 
conceiving  a  jest,  and  this  seems  to  me  a  sorry  one.  But 
my  memory  is  better  than  my  wit;  and  I  mind  well  the 
words  ye  spake  when  we  two  stood  together  in  Bever 
Court.  'Honest  Will,  I  pray  thou  mayst  never  repent 
having  cast  in  thy  lot  with  mine.'  Have  I  grown  dis- 
honest, then,  to  have  such  words  cast  in  my  teeth?  I 
repent  naught  but  not  having  kept  to  myself  my  likes  and 
dislikes ;  so  I  will  offend  no  more.  I  came  but  to  ask,  if 
your  worship  had  any  command  concerning  the  ordering 
of  the  garrison  left  here  ?" 

Ralph's  face  softened,  more  naturally  than  it  had  done 
since  the  fatal  fever-fit  possessed  him. 

"Go  to :  thou  art  even  too  honest  for  the  company  thou 
art  keeping.  I  prithee  forgive  my  taunt  and  forget  it.  I 
am  strangely  distempered  of  late,  and  speak  at  random 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  281 

sometimes.  For  good  or  evil  hap,  we  two  must  needs 
cleave  together ;  I  never  thought  otherwise.  I  will  come 
to  thee  anon  below  and  look  myself  to  the  ordering  of 
these  matters." 

When  the  Countess  heard  from  her  lover's  lips  all  that 
had  been  done  that  forenoon,  her  arched  brows  were  bent 
— thoughtfully,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  and,  though  she  was 
afterwards  more  lavish  than  usual  of  her  caresses,  Ralph 
was  tormented  by  a  disagreeable  impression  that  she  felt 
no  overwhelming  pleasure  or  gratitude  for  the  sacrifice 
made  for  her  sake. 

If  the  truth  must  be  told,  the  spoiled  beauty  was  already 
beginning  to  weary  and  repent  of  her  fancy.  Every 
thorough  coquette  prizes  a  conquest  less  from  the  moment 
that  it  is  perfectly  assured  and  complete,  especially  if  there 
be  no  rival  to  dispute  it.  And  Bertha  de  la  Roche  Dagon 
was  cruel  in  her  luxury  and  caprice  beyond  her  fellows ; 
with  her,  the  Circean  cup  lacked  savor  without  a  spice 
of  treachery. 

Her  paramour  was  too  single-hearted  in  guilt  and  too 
honest  in  dishonor  to  suit  her  long.  She  had  never  been 
bound  by  anything  ruder  than  rose-chains.  No  wonder 
that  steel  rivets  galled  her  dainty  wrists.  Indeed,  those 
two  had  few  real  sympathies  in  common.  Ralph  Brake- 
speare  was  not  of  the  stuff  of  which  minions  are  made ; 
he  had  earned  his  mistress  with  a  crime,  and  he  would 
have  risked  a  dozen  lives  besides  his  own  to  carry  out 
one  of  her  whims ;  but  he  could  not  turn  himself  into  a 
troubadour ;  and  the  delicate  finesses  without  which — on 
palates  like  Bertha's — dalliance  must  soon  pall,  were  as 
strange  to  him  as  tapestry  work  would  have  been  to  his 
fingers,  hardened  by  grip  of  sword-hilt  and  mace.  He 
was  not  jealous  for  the  very  simple  reason  that  there  was 
no  living  creature  in  the  castle  whom  he  could  suspect, 
but  he  was,  perchance,  in  many  ways  too  exacting.  Be- 


282  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

sides  this,  if  he  was  enslaved,  he  declined  to  wear  the 
badge  of  bondage  openly ;  his  manner  was  often  too  im- 
perious for  the  taste  of  the  lovely  despot  who  had  domi- 
neered over  mankind  from  her  girlhood ;  and  she  soon 
found  that  he  was  no  puppet  to  be  played  with  and  cast 
aside  or  taken  up  again. 

Altogether,  the  chatelaine  began  to  realize  that  she  had 
made  a  grave  mistake  and  to  cast  about  for  means  of 
amending  it.  But  these  did  not  suggest  themselves  easily. 
She  had  ever  been  too  haughty,  or  too  careless,  to  choose 
a  confidante ;  and  she  was  not  one  of  those  who  glean 
counsel  in  the  highway.  So  she  pondered  and  fretted  in- 
wardly, doubling  the  devotion  of  her  manner  towards  her 
lover  all  the  while,  till  at  last  she  fell  back  on  what  is 
often  the  first,  always  the  last,  resource  of  woman  in  her 
extremity,  and  sent  for  her  confessor. 

Some  two  leagues  distant  was  a  Cistercian  monastery, 
founded  about  a  century  later  than  the  great  Abbaye  de 
Cisteaux.  The  said  House  had  been  wont,  from  its  estab- 
lishment, to  minister  to  the  spiritual  necessities  of  La 
Roche  Dagon ;  and  a  certain  Father  Jerome  had  dis- 
charged this  particular  duty  for  many  years.  It  was  an 
onerous  office,  certainly,  if  not  a  responsible  one,  espec- 
ially since  the  Countess  Bertha  came  to  reign  there.  Sir 
Ralph  Brakespeare,  as  you  know,  liked  not  cowl  and 
scapular  but  for  very  shame  he  could  not  have  objected 
to  the  visit  paid,  outwardly,  no  less  to  the  lord  than  to  the 
lady  of  the  castle ;  and  it  was  in  the  ante-chamber  of  her 
husband's  apartment  that  the  Countess  chose  to  lighten 
her  soul  of  its  burden.  There,  at  least,  she  was  safe  from 
the  only  interruption  she  dreaded. 

Father  Jerome  had  listened  so  often  to  that  incorrigible 
penitent's  confessions  that  the  mention  of  any  ordinary  sin 
would  not  have  stirred  the  apathy  of  his  placid  face,  and 
he  would  have  mumbled  absolution  as  a  matter  of  form. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  283 

But  on  the  present  occasion  his  visage  was  ominously 
grim. 

"My  daughter" — he  said — "without  special  license  of 
my  Superior,  I  may  not  complete  thy  shrift.  The  sin  of 
adultery  is,  as  I  have  warned  thee  aforetime,  sufficiently 
heinous ;  but  the  guilt  is  tenfold  when  it  is  shared  by  one 
lying  under  ban  of  Holy  Church.  Knowest  thou  not  that 
yonder  godless  knight  is  guilty  of  the  blood  of  an  anointed 
priest,  no  other  than  the  Sub-Prior  of  the  Benedictine 
House  at  La  Meilleraye,  whom  he  hanged  by  the  neck 
like  a  felon,  while  in  discharge  of  his  duty  the  holy  man 
was  conveying  to  Agen  a  convicted  sorceress?" 

Now  the  lady  was  perfectly  familiar  with  the  whole  tale. 
Before  the  Free  Lances  had  been  three  days  at  La  Roche 
Dagon,  some  of  them  had  vaunted  this  deed  of  their 
leader  as  rather  redounding  to  his  credit ;  and  it  soon  fil- 
tered through  the  entire  household.  But  the  devoutest 
matron  could  not  have  looked  more  virtuously  horrified 
than  did  the  Countess  Bertha  now.  She  played  the  part 
of  amazement  and  remorse  so  admirably  as  almost  to 
impose  on  the  auditor.  Ere  long,  Father  Jerome  judged 
it  best  to  relent ;  and,  on  certain  conditions,  no  longer  to 
withhold  absolution.  Then,  in  all  amity,  the  two  began  to 
confer  together  till  they  had  laid  the  framework  of  their 
plan. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

HEAVENLY  INSTRUMENTS. 

EW  fortresses  built  before  the  beginning  of  the 
fourteenth  century  were  unprovided  with 
means  of  exit  and  access  besides  the  main 
entrance  by  the  barbican  and  pont  levis.  The 
castle  of  La  Roche  Dagon  to  the  south  and  west  was  made 
nearly  impregnable  by  the  deep  scarped  ravine.  On  the 
other  two,  the  walls — pierced  only  by  narrow  loop-holes 
and  arrow-slits — were  high  and  massive  enough,  to  set 
at  naught  all  the  rude  artillery  in  use  before  gunpowder 
came  into  vogue.  Pickaxe  and  battering  ram  would  have 
made  no  more  impression  there  than  on  the  living  rock ; 
whilst  the  nature  of  the  ground  forbade  attack  by  chatte- 
feuy  or  belfroi.  But  on  this  other  side  existed  a  secret  pas- 
sage, very  similar  to  the  one  before  described  at  Hacque- 
mont,  only  that  here  the  tunnel,  issuing  from  one  of  the 
dungeons,  extended  much  further,  and  debauched  about 
midway  on  the  hill  which  trended  downwards  steeply, 
though  not  abruptly,  by  an  iron  trapdoor,  level  with  the 
surface,  and  so  concealed  under  boulders  and  briers  as  to 
defy  detection.  Indeed,  unless  these  had  been  cleared  away 
from  without,  it  could  not  have  been  lifted  from  within. 
The  passage  had  not  been  used  for  many  years,  and  few  in 
the  household  were  aware  of  its  existence ;  neither  was 
this  among  the  secrets  that  Bertha  had  thought  fit  to  con- 
fide to  her  lover.  The  keys  of  the  several  doors  it  trav- 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  285 

ersed  were  not  kept  with  the  others  but  always  lay  in  the 
chatelaine's  private  coffer. 

On  the  fourth  day  after  his  first  visit,  the  confessor  re- 
turned ;  and  once  again  Sir  Ralph  Brakespeare  saw  him 
arrive  with  some  surprise  and  displeasure.  He  was  get- 
ting used  to  all  manner  of  caprices  and  whims,  but  this 
sudden  access  of  devotion  puzzled  him  exceedingly.  Look- 
ing deliciously  demure  and  innocent,  Bertha  coaxed  her 
frowning  lover. 

"Thou  wouldst  not  have  me  all  a  heathen,  man  gentil 
ami?  When  the  good  father  came  last  I  was  confessed, 
but  not  shriven — wottest  thou  why?  He  judged  me  to 
have  sinned  of  late,  so  heinously,  that  without  conferring 
with  the  Abbot,  he  dared  not  absolve  me.  And  whose 
fault  is  it  that  I  have  so  erred?  Wilt  thou  grudge  this 
one  half-hour  to  my  soul's  peace?  Or  is  it  because  there 
is  none  on  earth  thou  canst  be  jealous  of  that  thou  art 
grown  jealous  of  heaven?" 

As  a  matter  of  course  the  lady  carried  her  point.  Her 
religious  exercises  were  somewhat  long  for  the  second 
hour  found  her  still  closeted  with  her  confessor.  By  this 
time  everything  was  settled ;  yet  evidently  there  had  been 
some  debate,  for  the  Countess  Bertha's  face,  though 
neither  sorrowful  nor  displeased,  was  unwontedly  pensive. 

"I  would  I  had  a  more  express  promise,  reverend 
father.  If  all  tales  are  true,  the  mercies  of  Holy  Church 
are  sometimes  cruel ;  and,  though  I  would  fain  be  rid  of 
yon  Englishman,  I  were  loath  to  give  him  up  to  the 
doomsman,  much  more  the  torture.  I  should  not  sleep 
sound  for  many  a  night,  if  I  thought  he  came  by  foul 
usage — and  I  love  not  ugly  dreams." 

She  gave  the  prettiest  shiver  of  her  round  white  shoul- 
ders, as  she  looked  up  pleadingly,  but  the  monk  showed 
no  signs  of  relenting,  and  answered  almost  rudely. 

'Thou  hast  heard  our  terms,  my  daughter.     On  no 


286  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

others  will  our  House  risk  its  vassals  in  thine  aid — to  say 
naught  of  the  preux  chevalier,  Guiscard  de  Champrecour, 
who  leads  them.  Choose  thou,  once  and  for  all,  either  to 
live  on  in  open  shame  with  this  accursed  Freebooter,  or  to 
render  up  him  and  his  esquire — who  abetted  in  that  foul 
sacrilege — without  further  question.  I  have  paltered  with 
thee  over  long  on  this  matter." 

She  sighed  once,  but  before  the  sigh  was  fairly  ended, 
she  smiled. 

"Be  it  as  thou  wilt,  and  let  no  more  words  be  wasted. 
Ay — and  does  Guiscard  de  Champrecour  lead  your  sol- 
diers? I  saw  him  win  a  tilting  prize  at  Lyons.  A  mar- 
velous fair  knight,  albeit  something  overbold  with  his 
glances." 

The  monk  had  hard  work  to  look  grave — it  was  so  easy 
to  read  what  was  passing  in  his  penitent's  mind.  He 
guessed  at  once  that  with  that  sigh  the  old  love  was  buried 
and  with  the  smile  a  new  one  was  born. 

"Then,  before  midnight,  our  forces  shall  be  without 
the  postern" — he  said,  rising — "counting  on  finding  bars 
and  bolts  undone.  The  page  Aymery,  who  serves  in  poor 
Rene  D'Andelot's  room,  may  be  trusted  so  far ;  and  none 
can  watch  him,  since  the  secret  stair  of  issue  descends 
from  yon  chamber  where  my  lord  the  Count  lies.  As  for 
thee,  my  daughter,  thou  hast  naught  to  do  but  to  use  this 
liquor,  deftly,  at  the  right  season.  'Tis  utterly  tasteless 
and  harmless  to  life:  yet  there  was  never  yet  human 
brain  that  could  think  or  muscles  stir  for  twelve  hours 
after  it  hath  been  swallowed.  Take  it,  with  my  benison." 

He  held  out  a  tiny  phial  of  thick  dark  glass  which  the 
lady  carefully  concealed  in  the  bodice  of  her  robe ;  and 
then  somewhat  abruptly  they  parted.  The  man's  black 
fanaticism  and  the  woman's  selfish  sensuality  were  not 
sufficient  to  prevent  them  from  feeling  uneasy  in  each 
other's  presence  till  the  treachery  was  complete. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  287 

That  night  Brakespeare  supped,  as  had  been  his  wont 
for  some  time  past,  with  the  chatelaine  in  her  bower- 
chamber.  From  the  first  moment  of  their  meeting,  Bertha 
had  never  been  more  dangerously  seductive ;  and  Ralph 
yielded  to  her  fascinations  the  more  easily,  because  he  had 
reproached  himself  since  for  his  churlishness  in  the  mat- 
ter of  the  confessor  that  morning ;  indeed,  he  would  have 
expressed  his  penitence,  if  his  lips  had  not  been  stopped 
in  a  pleasant  fashion.  Generally,  the  lady  needed  some 
pressing  before  she  would  accompany  herself  on  her  lute ; 
but  now  she  took  it  up  unasked  and  sung  more  than  one 
virelai  in  a  voice  wondrously  sweet,  though  not  especially 
well  tutored  or  strong.  So,  as  the  night  wore  on,  the 
witch  kept  weaving  charm  after  charm  till  her  victim  was 
more  helpless  under  the  spell  than  when  he  first  reclined 
at  her  dainty  feet.  Suddenly,  the  Countess,  who  had  been 
glancing  twice  or  thrice  impatiently  towards  the  oriel 
window,  begged  of  her  lover  to  draw  the  curtain  closer 
athwart  the  casement,  saying  that  the  moonbeams  stream- 
ing in  vexed  her,  she  knew  not  why.  The  instant  Ralph's 
back  was  turned,  she  drew  the  phial  from  her  bosom, 
and,  unstopping  it  with  swift  dexterity,  emptied  it  into  the 
cup  that  stood  nearly  full  at  her  elbow.  When  Brake- 
spear  returned  to  her  side,  she  had  raised  the  goblet  to 
her  lips  and  seemed  to  drink ;  but  never  a  drop  passed 
them. 

"You  weary  of  my  wine,  if  not  of  me,  mon  doux  ami," 
she  whispered ;  "  'tis  an  hour  since  you  pledged  me.  Do 
me  right  now  in  this  beaker  whose  savor  I  have  proved 
already." 

Her  hand  never  shook  as  she  held  it  out,  and  she  looked 
right  into  his  eyes  while  he  drank. 

For  one  brief  instant,  the  minutest  feature  of 'the  scene 
stood  out  before  Ralph's  vision  with  supernatural  clear- 
ness, like  objects  lighted  up  by  a  brief  flash  of  lightning, 


288  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

and  abode  in  his  memory  as  if  they  had  been  seared  there. 
To  his  dying  day,  he  never  forgot  the  quaint  arabesques 
in  the  pattern  of  the  arras,  nor  the  chasing  of  the  silver 
hanap  he  had  just  drained,  nor  the  amaranth  velvet  of  the 
chatelaine's  tunic.  He  could  even  remember  how  the 
slightest  flush  on  one  of  her  delicate  cheeks  showed  that 
his  last  caress  had  been  something  too  rude.  Then  there 
came  a  hot  surge  and  whirl  in  his  brain — then  a  heavy 
stupor,  slackening  sinew  and  muscle,  so  that  he  scarce 
had  strength  to  stagger  back  and  sink  down  on  the 
estrade,  groping  blindly  for  his  poignard  hilt.  And  then 
came  a  horror  of  great  darkness. 

Bertha  de  la  Roche  Dagon's  face  was  full  at  first  of 
mocking  triumph,  as  she  bent  over  the  prostrate  knight 
to  assure  herself  that  he  was  helpless  and  harmless.  But 
it  softened  for  an  instant,  as  she  stooped,  and  kissed  him 
twice  or  thrice,  passionately  murmuring, — 

"  Tis  pity.    Ah  me !  'tis  pity." 

Then  she  sprang  up,  stamping  her  foot,  as  if  wroth  at 
her  own  weakness ;  and  walked  quickly  from  the  bower- 
chamber,  locking  it  behind  her. 

An  hour  later,  Lanyon  stirred  in  his  sleep,  hearing  his 
door  open  stealthily ;  but;  before  he  could  gain  his  feet  or 
grasp  a  weapon,  a  partisan  staff  descended  on  his  head 
and  left  him  senseless. 

By  midnight  the  massacre  was  over,  for  the  Free  Com- 
panions were  taken  wholly  unawares,  and,  though  they 
died  hard  and  doggedly,  could  make  no  serious  resistance. 
Before  dawn  the  last  corpse  had  been  flung  into  the  ra- 
vine ;  and  Guiscard  de  Champrecour  had  taken  from  the 
Countess's  own  rosy  lips  thanks  and  reward. 


B 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH. 

ERTHA !" 

The  voice  was  faint,   and  hollow,   and  be- 
wildered, like  the  voice  of  one  who,  having  been 
buried  by  mishap  in  a  trance,  wakes  within  the 
sepulchre. 

Then  there  came  a  clank  of  fetters,  and  through  the 
darkness  another  voice  spoke: 

"Now,  St.  Giles  be  praised  that  he  lives  yet! — though 
I  know  not  wherefore  I  should  rejoice  thereat.  My  lord 
Sir  Ralph,  I  fear  me  it  fares  ill  with  you.  Neither  may  I 
aid  you  for  I  lie  here  like  a  log  in  these  cursed  gyves." 

"It  is  Will  Lanyon,  surely" — Brakespeare  said  in  a 
firmer  tone.  "In  God's  name,  what  is  this  place,  and  how 
came  we  here  ?" 

"Beshrew  me  if  I  can  altogether  expound  it," — the  es- 
quire replied.  "My  brains  are  swimming  yet  with  the 
stroke  that  felled  me ;  and,  furthermore,  we  were  brought 
here  in  a  close  litter ;  but  I  take  it,  though  I  know  not 
rightly,  how  time  hath  gone,  we  are  but  some  two  leagues 
from  La  Roche  Dagon — a  malison  on  every  stone  therein. 
I  wot  well  that  we  are  in  priests'  hands,  for,  though  mine 
eyes  were  bandaged  when  the  litter  stopped,  I  have  heard 
since  no  clank  of  spur — only  the  patter  of  sandaled  feet. 
Neither  know  I  how  the  castle  was  surprised.  The 
French  rats  crept  up  a  sewer  perchance;  but  they  did 
their  work  cleanly.  Not  one  of  our  company  is  left  alive 


290  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

save  us  twain.  Ere  they  led  me  out,  they  counted  the 
corpses." 

Once  more  the  fetters  rattled  and  there  was  a  sound  of 
a  brief  convulsive  struggle,  as  if  the  knight  had  striven 
furiously  to  rise.  Then  Ralph's  voice,  hollower  than  it 
had  sounded  at  first,  was  heard. 

"And  the  Countess  Bertha — hast  thou  naught  to  tell 
concerning  her?  She  was  with  me  surely  when  I  fell 
down  in  this  trance.  If  they  have  harmed  a  hair  of  her 
head— 

Lanyon's  laugh  broke  in,  hard  and  jarring. 

"Be  not  uneasy  there  anent !  Yon  winsome  lady  stands 
in  no  peril  that  is  not  of  her  own  seeking.  Mine  eyes 
were  not  so  heavy,  but  that  I  saw  her  smile  as  she  looked 
down  from  the  presence-chamber  into  the  courtyard, 
just  after  the  last  of  our  men  had  been  dealt  with.  A 
proper  knight,  too,  stood  by  her  side  ;  and,  if  I  err  not,  her 
hand  rested  lovingly  on  his  shoulder.  I  dare  be  sworn, 
she  could  tell  the  secret  of  the  trance  in  which  your  wor- 
ship hath  lain  so  long." 

The  next  minute  the  honest  esquire  could  have  bitten 
his  tongue  out  for  the  words  it  had  spoken,  for  there 
came  through  the  darkness  a  sound,  more  terrible  to  hear 
than  wail,  or  shriek,  or  groan — the  sob  that  breaks  from  a 
strong  man's  breast  when  some  awful  agony  is  tearing 
at  his  heart-strings. 

While  Lanyon  was  devising  some  rude  form  of  con- 
solation, a  key  rattled  in  the  wards  of  the  lock,  and  four 
Cistercian  monks  appeared,  two  of  whom  carried  torches. 
Of  the  pair  who  entered  last,  one  was  the  friar  Jerome. 
The  other's  features  were  almost  buried  in  his  cowl,  but 
his  robe  and  scapular  were  of  finer  texture,  and  the  beads 
of  the  rosary  swinging  at  his  girdle  were  richly  wrought 
in  gold,  such  as  were  only  worn  by  high-church  digni- 
taries. The  torchbearers  held  their  flambeaux  over  the 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  291 

stone  bench  to  which  Brakespeare  was  fettered  by  a  broad 
iron  chain  doubled  round  his  waist  with  heavy  manacles 
on  wrists  and  ankles ;  so  that  their  superiors  might  con- 
template the  prisoners  at  their  leisure.  For  several  min- 
utes the  two  monks  feasted  their  eyes  greedly  in  silence. 
Then  the  Abbot — for  such  he  was — drew  near  with  slow, 
cautious  steps,  like  a  hunter  peering  into  a  oitfall  in  which 
some  terrible  wild  beast  is  trapped. 

"So" — the  Cistercian  said  in  a  low,  bitter  voice — 
"Heaven  hath  delivered  thee  into  our  hands  at  last.  Thou 
owest  the  Church  a  heavy  debt.  Thinkest  thou  to  pass 
forth  hence  till  thou  hast  paid  the  uttermost  farthing  ?" 

The  Free  Lance's  face  was  deathly  white  and  the  late 
agony  had  left  it  pinched  and  drawn,  but  his  bold  brown 
eyes  never  blenched,  and  his  lip  curled  instead  of 
trembling. 

"Heaven  works  with  rare  instruments,  it  seems — a  false 
harlot,  a  juggling  monk,  and  drugged  wine !  Never- 
theless, sith  it  is  as  thou  sayest,  and  the  debt  must  be  paid, 
I  marvel  ye  have  not  set  about  writing  quittance  already. 
In  such  matters  you  holy  men  are  not  wont  to  be  long- 
suffering." 

The  Abbot  drew  back  a  pace  or  two  hastily,  crossing 
himself. 

"Peace,  thou  blasphemer!  Make  not  thine  accompt 
with  God  heavier  than  it  now  stands.  Thou  knowest  not 
what  or  whom  thou  defiest.  In  cases  like  thine,  'tis  mercy 
to  cause  the  soul  to  pass  to  judgment  through  sharp  bodily 
penance,  if  so  may  be  purchased  some  remission  of  eternal 
torment.  Thy  hardihood  will  be  more  than  human,  if  it 
outlast  the  proof  of  our  questionaires." 

Before  the  ghastly  threat  Sir  Ralph  Brakespeare's 
visage  fell  not  a  whit ;  yet  there  was  something  like  com- 
passion in  his  glance  as  he  turned  towards  the  corner 


292  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

where,  fettered  not  less  heavily  than  himself,  lay  Lanyon, 
the  esquire. 

"We  who  wear  the  spurs  change  defiances  with  our 
peers,  not  with  women  or  monks," — he  said ;  "and  boasts, 
even  in  a  free  man's  mouth,  are  idle.  I  am  no  hardier 
than  my  fellows  that  I  wot  of ;  yet  under  trial  I  trust  to 
bear  myself  not  dastardly.  When  flesh  may  endure  no 
longer,  why — ye  may  laugh  your  fill.  I  have  scant  skill 
at  pleading  and  naught  wherewith  to  bribe.  Nathless  I 
would  ye  would  consider,  that  'twere  hard  justice  to  deal 
with  yon  poor  follower  of  mine,  as  ye  deal  with  me. 
On  the  day  when  the  deed  which  ye  call  sacrilege  was 
wrought,  I  said,  'The  burden,  whether  of  sin  or  shame,  I 
take  upon  mine  own  shoulders-.'  So  say  I  now.  What  he 
did — 'twas  little  enough,  God  wot — he  did  under  mine 
orders.  If  his  life  be  forfeit,  let  him  die  a  Chrisom  man, 
though  a  sinful  one  ;  not  piecemeal,  like  a  scotched  snake." 

Lanyon  could  not  stir  a  limb,  but  he  lifted  his  head  im- 
patiently. 

"Nay,  nay,  Messire  Ralph.  Shame  me  not  before  this 
reverend  company.  If  my  sinews  be  not  so  tough  as 
thine,  they  will  stand  some  straining  ere  they  crack.  They 
call  him  churl  in  Kentishland,  who  drinks  his  full  at  the 
feast  and  tries  to  escape  the  reckoning.  I  was  right  ready 
to  take  art  and  part  in  yon  deed ;  and  I  am  ready  now 
to  abye  it.  Let  those  holy  men  deal  with  us  according  to 
our  deserts ;  surely  their  wisdom  cannot  err." 

His  very  eagerness  betrayed  him  into  a  form  of  address, 
more  familiar  than  he  had  used  towards  his  master  for 
many  years — perhaps  since  they  had  been  boys  together — 
and  there  was  anxiety  in  his  eyes,  as  if  he  had  been 
soliciting  some  great  boon. 

The  Cistercian  Abbot  threw  back  his  cowl,  revealing 
features  cast  in  a  fine  patrician  mould,  though  marred 
by  the  stamp  of  supercilious  austerity,  and  gazed  steadily 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  293 

at  the  speaker,  moved  into  something  like  admiration  by 
the  sturdy  simplicity  of  self-sacrifice. 

"Thou  art  honest,  at  least,"  he  said;  "and  it  shall  not 
fare  the  worse  with  thee  therefor.  Also  thou  hast  well 
said,  that  it  is  not  for  such  as  ye  to  prescribe  the  fashion 
or  measure  of  your  punishment.  Only  be  sure,  when  it 
is  noised  abroad,  it  shall  serve  as  a  warning  to  male- 
factors, and  an  ensample  that,  when  Holy  Church  setteth 
her  hand  to  the  work,  she  doeth  it  not  negligently.  Now 
ye  have  respite  for  one  hour  during  the  which  the  rever- 
end father  here  shall  receive  your  confession ;  so  that  at 
the  fitting  moment  ye  may  be  absolved — for  we  may  not 
slay  the  soul  with  the  body.  Brother  Jerome,  I  leave 
thee  to  thine  office.  Do  thou  advise  us  when  it  is  ended." 

Drawing  his  robe  closer  around  him,  lest  it  should  be 
defiled  by  touch  of  the  excommunicate,  the  Abbot  swept 
out  of  the  dungeon,  followed  by  the  two  monks,  each  of 
whom,  before  departing,  fixed  his  torch  in  a  socket  pro- 
jecting from  the  wall. 

Though  the  Free  Lance  had  grown  more  th?n  negligent 
in  religious  duties,  he  was  by  no  means  an  infidel ;  nor, 
despite  his  late  rupture  with  the  Church,  was  he  inclined 
to  spurn  Her  aid  in  the  last  extremity.  Nevertheless,  he 
felt  an  unconquerable  aversion  to  be  shrived  by  the  priest 
who,  he  felt  sure,  had  been  the  accomplice  in,  if  not  the 
concoctor  of,  the  plot  against  his  life  and  liberty.  And, 
even  could  this  have  been  overcome,  it  were  the  veriest 
mockery  to  profess  himself  at  peace  with  the  world  and 
all  God's  creatures,  whilst  the  memory  of  Bertha  de  la 
Roche  Dagon's  treachery  lay  like  molten  iron  on  his 
heart.  If  his  fingers,  even  at  that  moment,  could  have 
closed  round  her  delicate  neck,  they  would  scarce,  per- 
chance, have  pressed  it  more  rudely  than  they  had  often 
done  in  caress,  yet  Ralph  felt  as  if  another  hour  on  the 
rack,  and  another  century  of  purgatory,  would  have  been 


294  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

a  cheap  price  to  pay  for  having  the  false  witch  fairly  at 
his  mercy.  He  could  not,  for  a  moment,  decide  whether 
to  reject  or  accept  the  services  of  the  friar,  who  stood 
there  telling  his  beads,  showing  no  sign  of  interest  on  his 
heavy,  apathetic  face. 

At  length  the  knight  motioned  with  his  hand,  as 
though  to  intimate  that  he  wished  Lanyon's  confession 
to  precede  his  own.  So  the  Cistercian  kneeled  down  by 
the  farther  stone  bench,  and,  bending  down  his  ear,  pre- 
pared to  listen. 

But  the  esquire  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  begin.  For  the 
last  few  moments  his  eyes  had  been  closed  and  his  brows 
bent,  like  those  of  a  man  striving  to  collect  his  thoughts. 
And  it  was  with  a  quaint  half-smile  that  he  spoke  at  last. 

"I  cry  your  reverence  mercy.  But,  an'  ye  fear  not  to 
come  so  near  mine  unholy  carcass,  I  would  crave  of  you 
one  slight  service — to  thrust  your  hand  into  my  breast, 
and  pluck  forth  what  ye  will  find  hanging  there  next  the 
skin." 

Half  reluctant,  Father  Jerome  did  as  he  was  desired. 
When  the  doublet  and  shirt  were  undone,  there  was  found 
a  broad  piece  of  flattened  gold,  strung  to  a  chain  of  steel- 
wire  links  rudely  twisted;  which  by  long  pressure  had 
worn  a  sort  of  furrow  in  the  hairy  chest  and  brawny 
throat. 

"What  meaneth  this  token  ?"  exclaimed  the  monk,  sus- 
piciously. "How  can  it  concern  me,  or  advantage  thee, 
at  such  a  time?  I  command  thee,  confess  if  these  signs 
have  aught  to  do  with  Black  Art,  or  Cabala.  Unhappy 
wretch !  Learn  that,  under  this  roof,  the  Prince  of  Dark- 
ness hath  no  power." 

The  smile  grew  broader  on  Lanyon's  lip. 

"If  Black  Art  hath  aught  to  do  therewith,  a  holy  man 
must  answer  it— no  other  than  Abbot  Hildebrand  of 
Haultvaux,  whom  my  master  and  I  encountered  on  the 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  295 

road  the  morning  we  set  forth  from  home.  The  signs 
ye  see  he  carved  with  his  own  hand ;  and  with  these  very 
words  he  bespoke  me  when  he  bestowed  it.  Marry!  'tis 
no  marvel  I  remember  them  for  I  conned  them  over  to 
myself  nigh  an  hundred  times  in  that  day's  journey,  and 
ever  since  they  have  come  as  pat  to  my  mind  as  an  Ave. 
'Tis  a  rare  chance  that  your  reverence's  routiers  found  it 
not.  They  thought  it  scarce  worth  while  to  search  nar- 
rowly the  person  of  a  poor  esquire.  'Thou  contest  of  the 
right  bulldog  breed,' — my  lord  Abbot  was  pleased  to  say 
— 'and  will  never  be  far  from  thy  master's  heel,  in  weather 
fair  or  foul;  so  that,  if  he  lie  in  sore  peril,  thou  thyself 
wilt  be  in  as  evil  case.  If  ye  be  come  to  such  a  pass  that 
there  is  no  hope  of  help  from  man,  and  ye  have  brief  time 
to  make  your  peace  with  God,  show  that  gold  coin  to  the 
priest  that  shall  shrive  thee,  and  adjure  him,  by  his  vow 
of  charity,  to  carry  it  straight  to  his  Superior,  or  the 
churchman  highest  in  authority  that  shall  chance  to  be 
near.  If  the  token  be  discerned  by  one  who  hath  the 
power  of  life  or  death,  or  whose  intercession  may  avail,  I 
dare  aver  that  ye  shall  both  go  forth  for  that  once  scot- 
free — ay,  though  there  be  holy  blood  upon  your  hands,  or 
the  guilt  of  sacrilege  upon  your  souls.'  Surely  now,  if 
ever,  is  the  time  to  put  this  to  proof.  So  thus  do  I 
discharge  me  of  Abbot  Hildebrand's  message.  If  it  carry 
no  weight  here,  'tis  no  fault  of  mine.  Good  father,  the 
gold  piece  is  in  your  hand — deal  with  it  as  seemeth  best 
to  your  wisdom." 

After  this — surely  the  longest  speech  that  his  tongue 
ever  framed — the  esquire  settled  himself  on  his  bench 
again  as  composedly  as  if  it  had  been  his  pallet,  and 
waited  the  result  with  much  more  outward  indifference 
than  his  master,  for,  during  the  last  few  moments,  the 
knight's  face  had  grown  eager  and  wondering.  Father 
Jerome  rose  to  his  feet  in  much  vexation  and  perplexity. 


296  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

He  had  given  himself,  and  gained  from  others,  much 
credit  for  having  entrapped  such  important  captives,  and 
was  inclined  to  chafe  at  the  faintest  chance  of  their  escape 
from  condign  punishment ;  yet  he  stood  too  much  in  awe 
of  his  haughty  and  irascible  Superior,  to  venture  to  sup- 
press the  token  on  his  own  responsibility.  After  ponder- 
ing awhile,  and  muttering  a  few  words  that  were  lost  in 
his  cowl,  he  plucked  a  flambeau  from  the  wall,  and  left  the 
dungeon,  clanging  the  door  behind  him. 

When  the  prisoners  were  fairly  alone,  said  Ralph  : — 

"By  St.  Giles !  I  am  as  easy  to  beguile  as  a  dottrel ; 
but  I  thought  at  least  I  was  safe  with  thee.  Father 
Hildebrand  knew  thee  better  than  I,  when  he  chose  thee 
to  carry  his  embassage.  I  had  as  soon  thought  of  finding 
a  troth-piece  round  thy  bull's  neck  as  yon  token.  Per- 
adventure,  'twill  not  help  us,  yet  none  the  less  I  own  that 
the  Abbot  meant  kindly,  and  that  thou  art  the  very  pearl 
of  secretkeepers." 

Had  the  light  been  less  dim,  the  esquire's  cheeks  might 
have  been  seen  to  flush.  In  certain  things  he  was  simple 
as  the  day  he  started  from  Bever,  and  his  master's  praise 
was  as  pleasant  to  his  ears  as  ever. 

"Mock  me  not,  messire,"  he  said.  "1  have  done  no 
more  than  any  carrier-pigeon,  rightly  trained.  Moreover, 
we  know  not  if  it  will  profit  us,  as  yet." 

"We  shall  know  right  soon,"  the  other  answered ;  and 
then  there  was  silence  again. 

Meanwhile,  Father  Jerome  was  closeted  with  his  Su- 
perior. The  Abbot  was  no  less  puzzled  and  perplexed 
than  the  monk  had  been,  when  the  token  was  laid  before 
him ;  but  in  different  wise.  For  it  was  clear  that  he  was 
able  to  decipher  the  engraving  thereon,  and  only  doubted 
how  to  act. 

"We  are  placed  in  a  shrewd  strait" — he  said,  twisting 
the  gold  piece  nervously  in  his  fingers.  "By  this  token, 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  297 

Hildebrand  of  Houltvaux  expressly  requires  that  the 
bearer  hereof,  and  the  gentilhomme  who'.a  he  serves,  shall 
be  assoilzied  and  set  free  for  once,  be  they  guilty  of  any 
crime  whatsoever.  'Tis  a  strange  request ;  but  Hildebrand 
never  speaks  nor  acts  like  other  men,  and  his  demands  may 
not  be  lightly  gainsayed.  None  hath  wrought  more  dil- 
igently for  the  advancement  of  our  Order  than  he ;  and 
standing  high  in  King  Edward's  favor,  he  hath  never  mis- 
used it.  He  is  keen  to  discern,  and  slow  to  forget,  when 
his  will  is  crossed,  and  hath  sure  intelligence  of  all  that 
passes  here ;  and  his  cousin,  the  Cardinal  of  Ostia,  would 
surely  espouse  his  kinsman's  quarrel.  'Twas  rash  policy 
to  incur  his  Eminence's  displeasure  just  now,  for  since 
Pope  Innocent's  health  hath  begun  to  fail,  his  name  is  in 
many  mouths  at  Avignon.  Moreover,  I  have  reflected — 
though  this  alone,  I  profess,  should  not  have  withheld 
me — that  we  are  not  so  far  from  Anse  but  that,  if  news 
came  thither  of  our  haute- justice,  Seguin  de  Bastefol  may 
ride  out  hither,  and  avenge  it.  Bencdicitc!  On  scantier 
pretext  these  godless  knaves  have  wasted  holy  places  with 
fire  and  sword.  Nay,  it  boots  not  to  gloom  over  it, 
Brother  Jerome.  I  am  vexed,  not  less  than  thou  art ;  yet 
am  I  minded  to  meddle  no  further  with  God's  vengeance, 
but  on  certain  conditions  to  let  these  malefactors  go  free. 
I  will  take  good  heed  that  Hildebrand  be  informed  of  this 
our  courtesy,  and  I  doubt  not  that  one  day  it  shall  be 
amply  repaid.  So,  do  thou  attend  me  to  the  dungeon  once 
more ;  and  bid  Jacquot,  our  jailer,  follow  with  his  tools. 
If  they  needs  must  go  forth,  we  will  be  quit  of  their  ac- 
cursed presence  speedily." 

Neither  Brakespeare  nor  Lanyon  thought  the  aspect 
of  things  more  encouraging,  when  the  Cistercians  en- 
tered the  dungeon  once  more,  followed  by  a  man  bearing 
a  basket  filled  with  uncouth  iron  instruments.  The  upper- 
most thought  in  both  their  minds  was,  that  the  Abbot, 


298  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

provoked  by  their  stubbornness,  had  shortened  the  time 
of  respite,  and  that  the  forbidding  attendant  was  none 
other  than  the  torturer.  Neither  had  the  Superior's  brow 
relaxed  aught  of  its  severity,  as  he  bespoke  the  chief 
prisoner. 

"If  ye  have  not  altogether  forgotten  how  to  pray,  ye 
will  bend  your  stubborn  knees  before  heaven  in  thanks- 
giving for  little  less  than  a  miracle.  Your  lives  are  safe. 
It  hath  pleased  my  brother  of  Haultvaux — for  what  rea- 
son I  cannot  guess,  since  never  in  less  worthy  cause  hath 
saintly  voice  been  upraised — to  plead  so  especially  in 
your  behalf,  that  I  may  not  slight  his  intercession.  So 
space  for  repentance  is  given  you.  There  is  good  reason 
that  your  lives  be  amended  for  ye  are  even  now  as  men 
raised  from  the  dead.  Yet,  on  these  conditions  only  shall 
ye  pass  out  free.  Ye  shall  swear  on  the  most  Holy  Sac- 
rament, hereafter  to  molest  neither  the  castle  of  Roche 
Dagon,  nor  any  now  dwelling  therein ;  and  not  only  to 
exact  no  reprisals  for  this  night's  work  from  any — gentle 
or  simple,  clerk  or  lay — but  to  reveal  what  hath  befallen 
thee  to  none.  And  furthermore,  in  aftertime,  that  ye  will 
cut  off  your  own  hands  at  the  wrists  sooner  than  lay  them 
on,  or  touch  irreverently,  an  anointed  priest.  Perchance 
ye  will  set  your  vow  at  naught.  In  such  a  case,  your 
blood  be  on  your  own  heads.  From  that  instant  ye  are 
laden  with  mine  anathema  from  which  none  living,  save 
our  Holy  Father  himself,  can  discharge  you.  Are  ye 
ready  to  make  oath  ?" 

It  will  scarce  be  credited  that  the  Free  Companion 
should  have  hesitated  before  he  answered ;  nevertheless 
it  was  so.  That  same  inveterate  stubbornness  of  char- 
acter which,  from  boyhood  upwards,  had  been  his  bane, 
asserted  itself  even  under  the  shadow  of  death,  and 
chafed  under  the  light  condition  by  which  his  release  was 
fettered.  But  there  was  some  reason  even  in  his  self-will. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  299 

He  soon  began  to  reflect,  that  it  might  be  very  long  before 
his  power  equaled  his  will,  if  he  were  to  go  forth  bent  on 
revenge — a  revenge  that,  after  all,  could  only  light  on 
such  as  manhood  is  bound  to  spare.  Besides,  the  outer 
world  had  never  looked  so  pleasant  to  him  as  now.  There 
surely  was  much  work  to  be  done,  and,  perchance,  fair 
sport  to  be  found  therein,  even  if  monks  were  wily  and 
paramours  untrue.  Also,  if  he  had  been  entrapped  by 
one  shaveling,  he  owed  his  life  to  the  kindly  forethought 
of  another,  whom  he  had  entreated  but  roughly  when 
they  parted.  Weighing  all  these  things,  he  was  fain  to 
confess  that  he  had  found  mercy  beyond  his  deserts.  So, 
on  his  own  and  his  follower's  behalf,  he  proffered  to  take 
the  prescribed  oath ;  and  even  added  some  formal 
acknowledgment.  The  Abbot  whispered  in  Father  Jer- 
ome's ear,  and  the  latter  departed  hastily ;  and  then  beck- 
oned to  the  jailor  to  strike  off  the  prisoner's  fetters.  Before 
this  was  fully  accomplished,  the  friar  returned,  followed 
by  two  monks,  one  of  whom  carried  the  golden  pyx,  the 
other,  a  canvas  sack.  When  the  double  oath  had  been 
duly  administered,  the  Abbot  undid  the  strings  of  the  bag, 
and  shook  out  its  contents  on  the  floor — a  gipsire  and  a 
chain. 

"These  were  taken  from  your  several  persons  last 
night,"  he  said.  "All  that  appertained!  to  you  is  re- 
stored, saving  horses,  arms,  and  harness — with  the  which 
it  were  sin  to  furnish  you.  The  soldiery  of  the  Church 
are  no  miscreant  plunderers,  and  our  House  hath  no  need 
of  your  gold.  Even  for  charitable  use,  our  hands  shall 
not  be  defiled  therewith.  May  it  help  you  to  better  ends 
than  ye  have  compassed  heretofore.  And  now  go  in 
peace.  Peradventure  this  sharp  lesson  may  yet  profit  you. 
Brother  Clement,  bring  here  bread  and  water,  lest  they 
wax  faint  by  the  way ;  and  then  have  them  forth  privately 
by  the  south  postern." 


300  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

So,  with  slow,  dignified  steps,  the  Abbot  moved  away ; 
but  on  the  threshold  he  turned,  and  glanced  back  into  the 
cell.  It  may  be  he  had  feigned  more  vexation  than  ho 
felt  when  he  found  himself  constrained  to  remit  the 
sentence — at  any  rate,  his  last  look  was  not  unkindly. 
There  was  noble  blood  in  the  Cistercian's  veins,  and 
cloister  training  had  not  wholly  quenched  the  martial 
instincts  born  with  him.  In  spite  of  himself,  he  had  been 
impressed  from  the  first  by  the  bearing  of  both  the  pris- 
oners; and  knew  not  whether  to  admire  most,  the  cool 
resolution  of  the  knight,  or  the  blunt  simplicity  of  the 
esquire :  the  last  wave  of  his  hand  might  well  have  been 
mistaken  for  a  benison. 

Jerome,  the  friar,  was  less  magnanimous ;  his  visage 
was  strangely  dark  and  malign  for  a  man  of  peace,  as  he 
followed  his  Superior  out. 

When  the  victuals  were  brought,  Ralph  drank  eagerly 
of  the  water ;  but  his  throat  was  still  too  parched  to 
swallow  a  morsel  of  the  coarse  rye  bread.  Lanyon's  ap- 
petite seemed  in  no  wise  impaired,  and  his  jaws  made  play 
with  the  frugal  fare,  lustily  as  ever  they  had  done  with 
the  spiced  meats  of  La  Roche  Dagon. 

Ten  minutes  later  the  two  stood  free  under  the  night, 
and  were  striding  swiftly  away — their  faces  turned 
towards  the  west.  The  monk  who  unlocked  the  postern 
had  pointed  out  to  them  the  track,  whence  there  was  no 
danger  of  straying  for  such  as  could  take  their  bearings 
from  the  stars.  Ere  long  the  open  air  and  brisk  exercise 
began  to  tell ;  and,  mind  and  body  shaking  off  the  languor 
of  the  drug,  the  old,  elastic  strength  glowed  throughout 
Brakespeare's  frame.  Nevertheless,  he  continued  moody 
and  thoughtful  and  did  not  seem  disposed  to  break  the 
long  silence.  They  had  been  walking  something  over 
an  hour,  when,  on  a  crest  of  rising  ground  near  a  wood, 
the  knight  stopped  abruptly.  Following  the  direction 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  301 

of  the  other's  gaze,  Lanyon  guessed  easily  at  the  reason 
of  the  halt.  Battlements  and  towers  stood  up  black 
against  the  dusky  horizon,  broken  here  and  there  by  broad 
streaks  and  thin  lines  of  light. 

Sir  Ralph  Brakespeare  shivered  from  head  to  heel 
where  he  stood,  and  his  bare  fingers  pressed  his  follower's 
shoulder  like  an  iron  gauntlet. 

"Canst  thou  guess  who  sups  with  the  Countess  Bertha 
to-night?"  he  whispered,  hoarsely.  "And  thinkest  thou, 
if  we  craved  it  humbly  at  the  gate,  we  might  be  fed  with 
their  broken  victuals?  Or,  perchance,  the  noble  lady 
might  fling  us  alms  from  her  bower  window?  Wouldst 
have  no  stomach  for  such  dole?  Nay,  nay — pride  suits 
not  with  beggars,  and  we  are  naught  else  now." 

There  was  puzzlement,  akin  to  alarm,  on  the  esquire's 
countenance.  During  all  the  years  that  they  had  trav- 
eled, over  rough  roads  and  smooth,  through  sunshine  and 
storm,  together,  he  had  never  heard  his  master  so  wild  of 
speech. 

"The  potion  works  still  in  your  worship's  brain" — he 
said ;  "or  ye  would  not  talk  so  distemperedly.  Did  ye 
not  swear,  scarce  an  hour  agone,  to  meddle  no  more  with 
La  Roche  Dagon?  How  doth  it  concern  us  to  know  on 
whom  the  witch-lady  now  practices  glamour?  Marry, 
I  wot  my  gipsire  is  heavier  than  when  we  two  left  Bever 
behind  us ;  and  that  fair  gold  chain  is  worth  more  than 
the  bezants  ye  carried  in  yours.  If  we  were  hopeful  then, 
wherefore  should  we  be  hopeless  now?  We  have  grown 
wiser  in  the  world's  ways  at  least,  and  better  masters  of 
our  weapons.  •  It  will  be  hard  if  we  carve  not  out  an- 
other fortune.  We  have  enow  to  purvey  us  with  horse 
and  harness ;  and  see  if  some  stout  hearts  troop  not  to 
your  pennon,  when  once  it  flutters  again." 

The  knight's  passion-fit  had  already  passed  off ;  but  he 
shook  his  head  gloomily  as,  after  another  long  look  at  the 


302  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

towers  of  La  Roche  Dagon,  he  turned  to  resume  his 
journey. 

"Thou  art  right,  in  a  fashion,  Will ;  yet  not  wholly  so. 
We  are  not  so  slack  of  sinew,  or  scant  of  breath,  but  that 
we  can  breast  another  hill ;  but  it  will  be  wearier  work 
winning  up,  and  the  prospect  will  be  scarce  as  fair  as 
from  that  we  have  climbed.  Furthermore,  I  avouch  to 
thee,  that  the  blood  of  those  poor  knaves,  slain  yonder,  lies 
heavy  on  my  heart.  If  they  had  died  in  fair  fight  against 
great  odds,  it  had  been  well.  But  it  irks  me  to  think  of 
their  being  butchered  like  beeves." 

"Your  worship's  conscience  is  too  tender" — the  esquire 
answered,  in  perfect  good  faith.  "It  was  but  a  chance  of 
war,  like  another.  I  have  no  mind  for  rack,  or  pincers, 
or  such  devilries,  I  own ;  but  so  the  pain  be  brief,  I  see 
not  why  a  routier  should  stand  upon  the  fashion  of  his 
death." 

The  simple  philosophy  did  not  quite  convince  Brakes- 
peare,  but  he  cared  not  to  argue  the  question  then ;  and 
so  silence  ensued,  broken  only  by  brief  consultation  where 
the  road  divided  or  seemed  doubtful  till  after  sunrise, 
when  nearly  half  the  distance  dividing  them  from  Anse 
was  accomplished.  At  a  small  hamlet  they  refreshed 
themselves  with  food  and  rough  country  wine ;  and  then 
set  forward,  Lanyon — as  he  had  done  on  the  first  day  they 
marched  forth  together — carrying  the  provant.  After 
another  scant  meal  they  rested  somewhat  longer ;  so  that 
the  twilight  was  closing  in  fast  as  they  came  down  on  the 
ferry  of  the  Loire  over  against  Anse.  They  stood  within 
the  gates  of  the  town,  soon  after  the  sounding  of  curfew. 


II 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

EASTWARD  HO  ! 

N  most  lives,  be  they  ever  so  peaceful  or  blame- 
less, there  are  certain  moments  that  may 
never  be  recalled  in  after  years  without  a  hot 
flush  and  tingling  like  shame,  even  though  they 
are  linked  with  no  memory  of  guilt  or  dishonor.  At  such 
times,  men,  neither  romantic  nor  oversensitive  have 
wished  in  all  sincerity  that  their  tongues  had  been  dumb 
forever  rather  than  utter  the  tale  that  must  needs  be  told. 
Nerves,  strong  enough  in  the  midst  of  deadly  peril,  have 
grown  womanly-weak  ere  now  undef  such  a  trial.  Well 
and  nobly  spoke  the  old  Provost  to  the  messenger  from 
Flodden  Field : — 

Thou  hast  not  shamed  to  face  us, 
Nor  to  speak  thy  ghastly  tale ; 
Standing — thou,  a  knight,  a  captain — 
Here  alive  within  thy  mail. 
Now,  as  my  God  shall  judge  me, 
I  hold  it  braver  done, 
Than  hadst  thou  tarried  in  thy  place, 
And  died  above  my  son. 

When  Ralph  Brakespeare  set  his  back  against  the  door 
in  Hacquemont  Keep,  and  made  ready  to  hold  the  stair 
against  odds  of  a  score  to  one,  he  felt  no  such  sinking 
of  the  heart  as  now,  when  he  entered  the  chamber  where 
Seguin  de  Bastefol  and  other  chiefs  of  Free  Lances  sat 


304  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

at  supper,  and  was  fain  to  confess  all  that  had  befallen 
him.  There  was  little  fellow-feeling  or  comradeship 
amongst  these  marauders,  recruited,  as  they  were,  from 
divers  countries ;  but  many  there  would  liever  have  pro- 
voked the  captain  of  a  fair  clump  of  spears,  than  the  man, 
who,  quite  unarmed,  and  with  never  a  blade  at  his  back, 
sat  in  the  midst  of  them — with  a  face  too  resolute  to  be 
penitent,  yet  too  sad  for  defiance — to  tell,  so  far  as  his 
oath  of  secrecy  allowed,  the  story  of  his  own  folly  and 
its  punishment.  So,  when  it  was  ended,  there  were 
neither  gibes,  nor  taunts,  nor  jests,  nor  laughter ;  but  only 
sullen  murmers  of  disapproval,  easier  to  bear. 

Yet  one  man  singled  himself  out  from  his  fellows,  and 
ranged  himself  at  once  on  Brakespeare's  side. 

John  Hawkwood  was  a  wily  adventurer,  thoroughly 
unscrupulous,  and  relentless  at  times,  as  his  after  history 
proves ;  but  he  was  free  from  the  meanness  of  the  petty 
plunderer,  and  it  was  foreign  to  his  nature  to  press  hardly 
on  a  comrade  in  adversity,  or  even  to  exult  unseasonably 
in  the  fulfilment  of  his  own  prophecies. 

"Tis  an  evil  mischance,"  he  said,  cheerily,  as  he  made 
room  for  Ralph  next  to  himself ;  "yet  not  so  evil  but  it  may 
be  amended.  There  is  the  furnishing  of  more  than  one 
lance  in  that  fair  gold  chain  that  by  some  miracle  still 
hangs  round  thy  neck,  to  say  naught  of  thy  balas  ruby. 
Didst  thou  blind  the  soudards'  eyes  with  gramarie,  so 
that  they  saw  it  not  glitter?  Each  man  here  is  free  to 
choose  his  own  captain,  and  I  know  naught  of  our  trade 
if  thou  long  lackest  following.  Moreover,  I  will  aid  thee 
according  to  my  power;  and  I  will  confer  with  thee  on 
these  things  ere  we  sleep.  Pledge  me  now  heartily,  thou 
art  no  wine-bibber,  I  know,  but  a  cup  or  two  beyond 
thy  stint  will  do  no  harm  to-night.  Trouble  wears  more 
than  travel  and  thou  hast  had  enow  of  both,  God  wot." 

The  geniality  of  the  speaker  influenced  not  only  the 


THE  FORTUNES  OE  A  FREE-LANCE.  305 

man  he  addressed  but  others  in  presence  there.  Thence- 
forth Brakespeare's  misadventure  was  an  object  rather  of 
rough  sympathy  than  blame  or  scorn.  He  himself  was 
the  more  moved  by  Hawk  wood's  manner,  because  of  late, 
it  had  been  marked  toward  him  by  a  certain  coldness  and 
reserve.  That  evening  the  two  spake  long  and  earnestly 
together,  and,  before  they  parted,  much  of  their  plans  was 
nearly  matured. 

Hawkwood's  proffers  of  assistance  to  his  comrade, 
though  liberal  enough,  were  not  unconditional.  He  did 
not  attempt  to  reduce  the  other  to  a  mere  subaltern  with 
no  independent  power;  but  made  it  clearly  understood 
that  the  command  of  their  united  followers  was  to  be 
vested  in  himself  and  that  no  expedition  should  be  under- 
taken without  his  especial  sanction.  At  the  same  time 
Brakespeare  was  left  free  to  part  company  whensoever 
he  pleased — first  repaying  the  sums  now  advanced,  in 
pledge  whereof,  the  gold  chain,  at  Ralph's  express  de- 
sire, was  placed  in  Hawkwood's  hands.  This,  at  least, 
was  better  than  parting  outright  with  the  heirloom ;  the 
ruby  he  still  retained  on  his  finger.  All  this  may  seem 
exceeding  unromantic,  and  something  unchivalrous ;  but 
both  were  hard  practical  men,  and  they  liked  each  other 
none  the  worse  because  the  matter  was  arranged  in  an 
honest,  business-like  fashion.  When  all  was  definitely 
settled,  the  elder  knight  began  to  unfold  his  design. 

"I  have  pondered  much  of  late,"  he  said,  "having  in 
truth  little  else  to  do,  and  thus  much  is  clear  to  me — that 
it  is  not  for  our  advantage  to  tarry  longer  here.  This 
realm  of  France  hath  been  so  vexed  and  ravaged  from 
border  to  border,  that  there  is  little  left  therein  worth 
the  harrying.  Even  this  corner  of  Burgundy,  that  had 
'scaped  till  the  Tards  Venus  came  down,  is  so  naked  now, 
that  it  can  scarce  purvey  us  with  forage.  Mine  ears  are 
weary  with  the  plaint  of  those  wretched  peasants,  and 


306  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

to  look  on  their  frightened  famished  faces  is  worse  than 
listening  to  their  moan.  I  care  not  greatly,  as  thou  know- 
est,  for  meddling  with  priests,  and  we  have  seized  and  put 
to  ransom  all  such  fortresses  as  might  safely  be  assailed ; 
so  that,  in  this  wise,  we  needs  must  hold  our  hands — 
unless  we  would  set  ourselves  at  open  war  with  one  or 
both  the  kings,  for  Edward  cannot,  for  very  shame,  sit 
still  whilst  the  peace  of  Bretigni  is  trampled  on.  Art 
thou  of  my  mind  so  far  ?" 

"Yea  so,"  Ralph  assented.  "We  have  grazed  all  down 
bare  within  sweep  of  our  tether,  and  'tis  best  to  seek 
fresh  pasturage.  I  care  not  how  soon,  or  how  far  afield 
we  stray." 

"That  is  well,"  Hawkwood  said ;  "hearken  then  to  me. 
Thou  hast  heard,  belike — for  those  here  have  never 
ceased  to  grumble,  that  they  marched  not  south  with 
Guyot  du  Pin  and  the  Bastard  of  Breteuil — of  the  early 
doings  at  Pont  St.  Esprit,  and  how  our  fellows  wasted 
all  up  to  Avignon  gate,  till  Innocent  waxed  sick  with 
fright,  and  the  cardinals  hid  themselves  in  hole  and  cor- 
ner like  hunted  mice.  But,  mayhap,  thou  hast  not  heard 
— sith  'tis  but  late  and  in  thine  absence — how  all  these 
things  were  concluded.  For,  at  the  last,  John,  Mar- 
grave of  Montserrat,  on  behalf  of  the  Pope,  proffered 
sixty  thousand  golden  crowns,  and  plenary  absolution 
to  boot,  for  the  Free  Lances  to  leave  the  Church  in  peace, 
and  follow  his  own  banner  into  Lombardy,  where  he 
wages  war  with  the  Milanese.  Witless  and  wilful  would 
our  comrades  have  been  had  they  haggled  over  such 
terms ;  so,  two  months  agone,  they  marched  thitherwards, 
light  of  conscience,  and  heavy  of  purse ;  and  ere  this,  I 
wot,  they  have  done  wight  service,  with  profit  to  them- 
selves, no  less  than  to  their  captain.  Now,  I  am  minded 
— when  we  two  have  gathered  sufficient  following — to 
follow  in  their  track.  I  have  spoken  lately  with  certain 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  307 

ones  who  know  the  country  well ;  and,  unless  I  err  greatly, 
there  will  be,  for  years  to  come,  work  enow  therein, — ay ! 
and  large  wage  to  boot — for  such  as  fight  for  their  own 
hand.  Wilt  thou  ride  on  that  road  with  me?  Tis  but 
turning  bridle  again  when  thou  art  a-weary  of  my 
company." 

"Ay,  and  willingly,"  the  other' made  answer;  "an'  ye 
fear  not  infection  of  ill-luck.  Misfortune,  so  some  think, 
carries  a  taint  like  the  plague." 

"Tush !"  Hawkwood  said,  pleasantly ;  "I  have  never 
leisure  for  superstitious  fancies,  and  leave  such  to  old 
wives  or  astrologers.  Blame  rather  ill-management  than 
ill-luck  when  matters  go  awry.  If  a  knight  will  air  his 
valor  in  defense  of  ribaude,  and  make  martyr  of  felon 
priest,  and  let  high-born  paramour  set  foot  on  his  neck — 
those  that  came  back  from  <La  Roche  Dagon  told  rare 
tales ! — he  must  needs  look  to  come  by  scathe  or  scorn. 
But  thou  hast  been  sharply  schooled  against  such  vani- 
ties ;  and,  if  I  see  thee  falling  again  into  temptation, 
thou  shalt  not  lack  due  warning  of  thine  elder — not  thy 
better — in  arms." 

In  more  cordiality  than  had  subsisted  between  them 
for  some  time  past,  the  two  parted  for  the  night.  On 
the  very  next  morning,  Sir  Ralph  Brakespeare  began  to 
furnish  himself  anew ;  and  his  name  was  reckoned  once 
more  amongst  the  captains  and  leaders  in  Anse. 

Little,  indeed,  is  known  accurately  concerning  the 
military  economy  of  those  famous  Companies  for  no 
annalist  ever  rose  amongst  themselves,  and  even  Jehan  de 
Froissart's  zeal  would  scarce  have  tempted  him  within 
sight  of  their  camp-fires.  Nevertheless,  something  we 
may  infer.  Division  of  booty  in  certain  proportion  was 
substituted  for  regular  pay;  and  the  Freebooters  came 
and  went  as  it  pleased  them,  enlisting  for  no  definite 
time  of  service,  Yet  that  there  were  differences  of  rank 


308  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

fixed  and  maintained  is  clear.  The  lowest  grade  were 
the  coutilliers,  or  spearmen,  lightly  harnessed  and  im- 
perfectly armed,  who  performed  the  duties  of  grooms  or 
pages  to  the  full  lances ;  above  these  last  were  certain 
squadron  leaders,  answering  to  the  knights-bachelors  and 
bannerets  in  the  feudal  army;  whilst  the  movements  of 
the  main  body  were  directed  by  one  or  more  chiefs, 
answering  to  our  generals  of  brigade. 

Hawkwood  was  not  over  confident  in  asserting  that 
spears  would  soon  gather  round  his  comrade's  pennon. 
If  Brakespeare  had  been  somewhat  stern  in  discipline, 
and  imperious — apt  rather  to  repel  than  invite  familiarity 
— he  was  known  to  be  free-handed,  even  to  lavishness ; 
and  when  there  was  danger  in  the  front,  he  only  asked 
to  be  followed.  In  speaking  of  the  misadventure  at  La 
Roche  Dagon,  the  rentiers  did  not  forget  how  the  castle 
was  won.  Weighing  the  exploit  of  the  pont  levis  against 
the  night  surprise  and  the  drugged  drink,  the  scale  turned 
rather  in  Ralph's  favor.  Any  man  might  be  excused 
for  being  taken  unawares  by  secret  passages,  or  woman's 
wile.  If  their  captain  had  paid  dearly  for  his  own  love- 
fit,  perchance  he  might  be  less  severe  hereafter  in  judging 
others  who  broke  bounds,  and  they  liked  him  none  the 
worse,  since  he  had  shown  that  he  was  not  temptation- 
proof.  Little  sympathy,  and  less  regret,  was  expressed 
for  those  who  came  by  their  deaths  when  the  place  was  re- 
taken ;  those  reckless  soudards  were  more  inclined  to  pity 
a  comrade  for  losing  his  money  at  the  dice,  than  for  losing 
his  life  in  battle  or  brawl. 

Sir  Ralph  Brakespeare  was  much  in  the  position  of  a 
favorite  captain,  who  having  just  lost  a  vessel — rather 
by  the  visitation  of  God,  than  through  his  own  ignorance 
or  cowardice — when  he  begins  to  fit  out  again,  finds  less 
difficulty  in  manning  his  ship  than  many  merchants  who 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  309 

have  plodded  on  through  their  profession,  steering  clear 
both  of  brilliant  success  and  grave  disasters.  . 

It  soon  became  noised  abroad  that  Hawkwood  and 
Brakespeare  purposed  to  sever  themselves  from  the  Com- 
panies lying  at  Anse,  and  set  forth  for  Lombardy.  Ru- 
mors— vague,  but  tempting — of  the  success  of  those  who 
had  already  marched  thither,  had  come  back  across  the 
Alps ;  so  that,  when  the  knights  finally  mustered  their 
followers,  no  fewer  than  fourscore  lances,  and  nigh  two 
hundred  spearmen  and  coutilliers,  were  ranged  under 
their  command.  Seguin  de  Bastefol  was  sorely  inclined 
to  take  umbrage  at  so  large  a  defection ;  but  independent 
action  was  the  very  root  and  essence  of  Free  Companies, 
and  he  knew  that  neither  of  those  two  was  likely  to  be 
dissuaded  nor  gainsayed.  Moreover,  he  himself  had  be- 
gun to  find  the  country  round  Anse  too  strait  for  him 
and  to  think  of  moving  westwards,  towards  his  native 
Gascony.  This  indeed,  he  did  not  long  afterwards,  turn- 
ing by  the  way  to  storm  Brieux,  ravaging  and  devastat- 
ing Auvergne  from  Clermont  to  Ussoire.  So  Seguin  de 
Bastefol  swallowed  the  necessity  with  a  tolerably  good 
grace ;  and  when  he  bade  his  comrades  "Go  and  prosper, 
in  the  devil's  name !"  this,  according  to  his  peculiar  ideas, 
was  rather  a  benison  than  a  ban. 

The  events  and  preparations  just  related,  extended  over 
the  space  of  several  months;  and  the  spring  of  1362  was 
far  advanced  when  the  adventurers  rode  forth  from 
Anse.  They  bore  to  the  south-east,  by  Grenoble  and 
Briancon,  and  crossed  the  Alps  under  Mont  Genevre,  by 
the  pass  through  which,  more  than  a  century  later, 
Charles  VIII.  descended,  bringing  with  him  a  mighty 
armament  and  heavy  train  of  artillery.  It  was  a  long 
march  and  a  toilsome  for  the  road  was  rough  to  travel, 
even  in  summer,  and  was  more  than  fetlock  deep  in  snow 
on  the  higher  grounds ;  yet  they  had  not  lost  horse  or 


310           THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

man  when  they  came  down  on  the  Piedmontese  plains 
near  Susa.  Thenceforward  the  journey  was  easy,  and 
they  moved  steadily  on — meeting  with  no  let  or  hindrance 
— by  way  of  Asti  and  Alexandria,  till  they  fixed  them- 
selves for  the  present  on  the  south  bank  of  the  Po,  wait- 
ing to  see  how  the  tide  of  events  would  turn. 

By  this  time  John  of  Montserrat,  warring  with  the 
Lords  of  Milan,  had  made  such  good  use  of  the  spears 
he  hired  at  Pont  St.  Esprit  that  Barnabo  and  Galeas 
Visconti  were  fain  to  sue  for  peace.  When  this  was  once 
concluded,  the  Margrave — a  prince  no  less  politic  than 
bold — began  to  cast  about  how  he  might  best  deliver 
himself  of  a  burden  both  cumbersome  and  costly,  for  it 
was  needful  not  only  to  provide  the  Freebooters  with 
food  and  pay,  but  also  with  constant  work.  Once  in 
idleness,  they  waxed  dangerous ;  and,  like  the  familiars 
of  necromancy,  were  apt  to  turn  and  rend  their  masters. 
From  this  perplexity  he  was  relieved  by  the  offer  of  the 
Pisan  deputies  to  take  off  his  hands  such  of  the  Free 
Lances  as  he  could  spare ;  and  so  the  White  Company 
— then  chiefly,  though  not  entirely,  composed  of  Eng- 
lish— passed  into  the  pay  of  the  Republic.  To  this  Com- 
pany Hawkwood  and  Brakespeare  joined  themselves  ;  and 
were  received  as  those  are  like  to  be,  who  bring  with 
them  no  mean  reputation  and  a  following  answering 
thereto. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  elder  knight  began  to  gather 
into  his  own  hand  the  reins  of  authority,  hitherto  some- 
what slackly  held  by  the  two  or  three  esteemed  chiefs 
of  the  White  Company.  Only  one  of  those — Simon 
Burnley  by  name — could  lay  claim  to  any  real  military 
skill,  and  he  was  such  a  thorough  debauchee  that  it  was 
hard  to  reckon  when  his  senses  would  be  fit  to  use.  So 
the  eyes  of  all  men  began  to  turn  to  the  quiet,  staid  com- 
mander— slow  of  speech,  but  whose  cool  brain  and  steady 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  311 

nerves  were  ever  ready  to  profit  by  advantage,  or  battle 
with  calamity. 

Ralph  Brakespeare  watched  his  comrade's  rise,  not 
alone  without  envy,  but  without  emulation.  Though  he 
was  neither  gloomy  nor  despondent,  the  shadow  of  his 
last  misadventure  passed  not  away  from  him  when  others 
forgot  it.  He  seemed  loath  to  take  upon  himself  any  re- 
sponsibility of  command.  In  field  or  on  parade,  his 
voice  was  clear  and  sonorous  as  ever ;  but  in  counsel- 
chamber  it  was  never  heard.  Hawkwood  at  first  made 
efforts,  not  a  few,  to  draw  the  other  out  of  the  back- 
ground, as  if  unwilling  to  engross  the  chances  of  ad- 
vancement ;  but  after  awhile  he  desisted,  and  left  Brake- 
speare to  follow  his  own  devices,  whilst  he  addressed  him- 
self steadfastly  to  the  task  of  building  up  his  own  for- 
tunes. 

Under  the  careful  training  of  that  skilful  strategist,  the 
materials  of  the  Free  Companies — already  moulded  into 
shape  by  fifteen  years  of  incessant  warfare — was  de- 
veloped to  a  military  perfection,  forgotten  in  Europe 
since  the  Roman  Legionaries  ceased  to  be.  On  the  har- 
ness and  equipment,  no  less  than  on  the  training  of  his 
veterans,  Hawkwood  bestowed  thought  and  care.  It 
was  easy  to  conceive  how  poor  a  front  raw  peasant-levies 
and  citizen-soldiery  must  have  shown,  when  set  face  to 
face  with  such  troops  as  Villani  describes. 

"These  English  were  all  lusty  young  men,  most  of  them 
born  and  brought  up  in  the  long  wars  between  the  French 
and  English ;  warm,  eager,  and  practised  in  slaughter  and 
rapine,  for  which  they  were  always  ready  to  draw  their 
swords,  with  very  little  care  for  their  personal  safety ; 
but  in  matters  of  discipline  very  obedient  to  their  com- 
manders. However,  in  their  camps  and  cantonments, 
through  disorderly  and  overbearing  boldness,  they  lay 
scattered  about  in  great  irregularity,  and  with  so  little 


312  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

caution,  that  a  bold,  resolute  body  of  men,  might,  in  that 
state,  easily  give  them  a  shameful  defeat.  The  armour 
of  almost  all  were  cuirasses,  their  breasts  covered  with  a 
steel  coat  of  mail,  gauntlets,  and  armour  on  the  thighs 
and  legs,  daggers  and  broad-swords ;  all  of  them  had 
long  tilting  lances,  which  after  dismounting  from  their 
horses,  they  were  very  dexterous  in  handling.  Every 
man  had  one  or  two  pages,  and  some  of  them  more,  ac- 
cording to  their  ability  to  maintain  them.  On  taking  off 
their  armour,  it  was  the  business  of  their  pages  to  keep 
them  bright  and  clean ;  so  that  when  they  came  to  action, 
their  arms  shone  like  looking-glass,  and  thus  gave  them 
a  more  terrifying  appearance.  Others  among  them  were 
archers ;  their  bows  long  and  made  of  yew.  They  were 
very  expert  in  using  them  and  did  great  service  in  action. 
This  manner  of  fighting  in  the  field  was  almost  always 
on  foot.  The  horses  were  given  in  charge  to  the  pages. 
The  body  they  formed  was  very  compact  and  almost 
round ;  each  lance  was  held  by  two  men  in  the  same 
manner  as  a  spear  is  handled  in  hunting  the  wild  boar ; 
and  thus  close  embodied,  with  their  lances  pointed  low, 
and  with  slow  steps  they  marched  up  to  the  enemy  with 
terrible  outcry,  and  very  difficult  it  was  to  break  or  dis- 
unite them." 

Nevertheless,  fortune  was  tardy  in  rewarding  the  great 
Condotticre's  pains.  The  winter  expedition  through  the 
Val  de  Nievole,  though  an  admirable  test  of  hardihood 
and  endurance,  could  scarcely  be  classed  above  a  preda- 
tory expedition  from  which  was  reaped  no  permanent 
advantage;  and  when,  in  the  summer  of  1364,  he  first 
appears  as  the  leader  of  the  Pisan  forces  in  a  regular 
engagement,  he  led  them  not  to  victory  but  to  a  rude 
reverse.  True  it  is,  that  at  Barga  those  of  the  White 
Company  encountered  not  municipal  troops  alone,  but 
many  of  their  ancient  comrades — both  German  and  Eng- 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  313 

lish — who  had  been  lured  from  their  own  ranks  by  fair 
proffer  of  florins.  It  was  wolf  set  against  wolf,  and 
deadly  rending  ensued ;  yet  was  the  defeat  not  doubtful, 
and  Malatesta,  who  commanded  the  Florentine  host — 
cousin  to  him  whose  doings  and  death  have  been  re- 
corded in  this  chronicle — pressed  his  advantage  right  up 
to  the  gates  of  Pisa.  Never,  since  he  first  drew  sword, 
did  Sir  Ralph  Brakespeare  show  more  desperate  valor 
than  in  covering  that  retreat,  wherein  he  gat  two  sore 
wounds,  besides  being  crushed  under  his  dead  charger ; 
hardly  did  .Lanyon,  and  others  who  struck  in  to  the 
rescue,  bear  the  knight  alive  into  the  town. 

So  once  more  Ralph's  iron  constitution  had  sharp  trial ; 
and  the  stark  muscles  and  sinews  slackened,  till  they 
could  no  longer  lift  the  weary  arm.  There  were  no  white 
hands  to  smooth  his  pillow  and  no  soft  voices  to  sing  him 
to  sleep  as  at  Hacquemont.  Nevertheless  the  knight 
found  a  careful  nurse  and  a  cheery  withal,  in  a  certain 
matron,  buxom  though  well  stricken  in  years — wife  of 
the  clothier  in  whose  house  he  had  lodged  ever  since  he 
first  joined  the  White  Company.  The  condottieri,  even  so 
early  in  their  service,  were  apt  to  entreat  somewhat 
roughly  the  good  citizens,  on  whose  pay  they  throve  till 
they  waxed  wanton ;  so  that  murmurs  not  a  few,  and 
some  shrill  complaints,  had  already  been  heard  in  Pisa. 
But  Sir  Ralph  Brakespeare's  name  was  in  itself  a  safe- 
guard ;  the  boldest  ruffler  presumed  not  to  bawl  under  the 
eaves  of  the  house  where  he  dwelt,  much  less  molest  its 
inmates ;  and  he  himself  treated  his  hosts,  not  with  mod- 
eration only  but  with  courtesy.  In  his  sickness  he  had 
his  reward. 

If  Dame  Giacinta  had  watched  by  the  sickbed  of  her 
own  son — she  had  never  born  a  living  child,  yet  the  ma- 
tronly instincts  were  not  less  strong  in  her  ample  breast — 
she  could  not  have  been  more  earnest  in  her  tending. 


314  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

Garrulous  by  nature,  she  could  govern  her  tongue  at  need  ; 
and,  not  till  it  was  safe  for  her  patient  to  listen  did  she 
try  her  best  to  amuse  him.  She  had  a  pleasant  voice  too, 
and  the  lingua  toscana  was  musical  then  as  now ;  and 
Ralph  would  lay  for  hours  listening  to  her  prattle,  seldom 
exerting  himself  to  speak,  but  answering  her  now  and 
then  with  a  smile  with  which  encouragement  the  dame 
was  more  than  content.  Lanyon,  too,  was  always  within 
call ;  for  little  duty  was  going  on,  since  the  late  defeat 
caused  the  Pisan  garrison  to  keep  within  the  gates.  On 
the  whole,  the  knight's  convalescence  advanced  comfort- 
ably enough. 


B 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

TO    THE    WEST. 

pFORE  Sir  Ralph  Brakespeare  was  fit  to  sit  in 
saddle,  his  term  of  service  was  ended.  The 
honest  burghers  were  greatly  discouraged  by 
the  defeat  at  Cascina ;  and,  looking  at  their 
empty  treasury,  they  dared  no  longer  maintain  those 
terrible  mercenaries  who  were  apt  to  wax  disorderly  on 
less  pretext  than  arrears  of  pay.  So  it  was  resolved  to 
let  them  depart  so  soon  as  the  city  could  clear  scores 
with  the  White  Company.  From  their  financial  difficulty 
the  council  was  relieved  by  Giovanni  Agnello — a  man  of 
ambition  larger  than  his  fortune — who  proffered  a  loan 
of  30,000  crowns  on  condition  he  should  be  at  once  in- 
vested with  the  Doge's  mantle.  The  money  came  from 
much  deeper  coffers  than  those  of  Agnello,  for  it  was 
found  by  Barnabo  Visconti  of  whom  the  other  was  but 
the  tool  and  hireling.  The  condottieri  cared  not  a  jot 
whence  their  wage  came,  if  the  tale  was  full,  and  the 
metal  rang  true;  so  on  the  present  occasion  they  took  it 
— grumbling,  as  a  matter  of  course — and  went  their  way, 
to  turn  their  Ishmaelitish  hands  against  every  one  who 
might  be  safely  laid  under  tribute  now  that  peace  was 
concluded  betwixt  Florence  and  Pisa. 

Thenceforward  began  for  Ralph  Brakespeare  a  life 
more  evil  and  unknightly  than  any  he  had  yet  led.  If 
the  Freebooters  that  Hawkwood  commanded  were  not  as 
merciless  in  rapine  as  those  who  followed  Werner — self- 


316  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

styled  "The  enemy  of  God" — yet  their  exactions  and  out- 
rages were  sufficient  to  wring  a  cry  from  all  the  country 
betwixt  Arno  and  Lake  Trasimene;  till  at  last  the  Sien- 
nese,  goaded  beyond  endurance,  turned  to  bay.  It  was 
even  such  a  battle,  as  when  the  shepherd  lad  went  forth 
with  sling  and  stone  to  fight  with  the  harnessed  cham- 
pion of  Gath ;  and  once  again  the  right  triumphed  over 
the  unright,  and  against  odds  of  strength  and  skill. 
Hawkwood — if  not  utterly  routed — was  forced  to  give 
ground,  and  retire  for  a  while  into  the  neighboring  terri- 
tory. But  there  again  he  found  his  path  beset  with  thorns 
— and  sharp  ones  to  boot — no  other  than  the  German 
lances  who  had  lately  taken  hire  with  Perugia.  These, 
with  the  civic  militia  at  their  back,  soon  took  the  field ; 
and  the  White  Company  met  with  a  second  reverse, 
heavier  than  that  which  had  befallen  them  before  Sienna. 
It  was  now  that  Hawkwood's  great  strategic  talent 
came  really  into  play.  No  mere  chief  of  condottieri  could 
have  kept  the  bands  of  discipline  and  mutual  interest  un- 
strained that  held  together  six  thousand  marauders,  more 
dangerous  under  defeat  than  after  victory,  and  prone 
to  mutiny  at  the  least  check  on  their  license.  It  was  a 
hard  and  anxious  time,  not  only  for  the  famous  captain 
himself,  but  for  his  subalterns  in  command.  Those  three 
years  counted  for  ten  in  aging  Ralph  Brakespeare ;  be- 
fore they  were  ended,  there  were  deeper  lines  in  his  face, 
and  more  silver  streaks  in  his  brown  beard,  than  were 
warrantd  by  two  score  summers.  He  was  not  so  much 
discouraged  by  ill  luck — indeed,  at  times  he  thought  that 
he  and  his  comrades  scarcely  merited  better — but  he  was 
heartily  sick  of  the  life  he  led ;  and  would  have  turned 
his  back  upon  Italy  long  before  had  he  not  held  it  shame 
to  leave  in  time  of  sore  strait  an  ancient  brother-in-arms 
who  had  stood  by  himself  in  adversity ;  for  all  debts,  save 
this  one,  were  canceled  long  ago,  and  Brakespeare  was 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  317 

free  to  go  whither  he  woul.l.  Those  two  were  excellent 
friends  now,  and  there  was  small  danger  of  their  being 
divided  by  difference  of  opinion,  for  Hawkwood  took  no 
man  into  his  counsel,  and  preferred  bearing  the  whole 
burden  of  ill  success  on  his  own  shoulders  to  sharing  his 
authority  even  in  name.  Patiently  and  warily — exacting 
from  the  country  through  which  he  moved,  or  where  he 
tarried,  only  such  contributions  as  were  sufficient  amply 
to  maintain  his  spears — he  bided  his  time,  till  he  felt 
himself  strong  enough  once  more  to  adventure  himself 
on  a  stricken  field.  The  tide  of  fortune  had  turned. 
Thenceforward,  up  to  the  day  when  all  Florence  came  to 
see  him  laid  in  a  sumptuous  tomb,  once  only  could  any 
have  boasted  that  they  had  seen  John  Hawkwood's  back. 

In  the  spring  of  1367,  he  marched  into  the  territory 
of  Sienna ;  and  again — not  despairing,  but  flushed  with 
the  memory  of  their  last  success — the  citizens  came  forth 
to  meet  him.  This  time  heaven  helped  not  the  weaker 
battalions.  The  first  onset  of  the  condottieri  bore  down 
all  before  it,  and  the  overthrow  of  the  Siennese  was  so 
complete,  that  the  pursuit  and  slaughter  were  carried  to 
the  foot  of  the  hill  that  the  city  crowns.  Whilst  the 
terror  of  his  victory  was  still  fresh,  Hawkwood  marched 
forward  on  Perugia.  The  German  lances  were  no  longer 
to  the  fore,  and  the  bridge  of  San  Gianni  saw  the  defeat 
of  Conchiano  bloodily  avenged.  For  the  next  two  years 
Hawkwood's  company  lived  at  free  quarters  in  the  terri- 
tory of  Sienna  and  Perugia — none  daring  to  molest  them 
or  to  withhold  what  they  pleased  to  require.  Then  they 
took  service  again  under  a  new  master. 

Barnabo  Visconti,  casting  about  his  keen  eyes  in  search 
of  the  properest  instrument  to  carry  out  his  large  and 
crafty  designs  found  none  so  likely  as  the  English  cap- 
tain. It  was,  indeed,  the  custom  of  that  politic  prince  to 
pension  the  chiefs  of  the  adventurers — even  when  he 


3i8  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

did  not  require  their  active  service — so  as  to  insure,  at 
least,  that  their  arms  were  not  turned  against  himself. 
Having  now  taken  Hawkwood  into  full  pay,  he  sent  him 
to  raise  the  seige  of  Minciato,  now  invested  by  the  Flor- 
entines, from  whom  the  town  had  revolted.  It  soon  ap- 
peared that  Visconti  had  neither  chosen  unwisely,  nor 
wasted  his  wages.  Hawkwood  stood  aloof,  provoking 
the  enemy  and  eluding  battle,  till  they  waxed  wroth  and 
rash,  so  that  they  were  fain  to  engage  on  any  terms ;  and, 
being  drawn  into  an  ambush,  were  routed  with  great 
slaughter  and  shame.  Thus  the  siege  of  San  Minciato 
was  raised;  and,  that  the  town  afterwards  fell  into  the 
hands  of  the  Florentines  was  no  fault  of  Hawkwood's, 
but  of  treachery  within  the  walls.  Nevertheless,  in  this 
service  the  English  captain  abode  not  long.  Barnabo's 
promises  were  better  than  his  pay  and  the  insults  of 
young  Ambrosio  Visconti  were  hard  to  brook.  So,  in 
the  following  year,  he  listened  readily  enough  to  the 
proffers  of  Cardinal  Biturcense,  Pope  Gregory's  legate, 
and  ranged  himself  under  the  Holy  Gonfalon  against  his 
late  master. 

Here  two  paths — which,  for  over  twenty  years,  had 
run  side  by  side — divided  for  ever  and  aye.  The  very 
morning  that  Hawkwood  announced  to  his  spears  that 
they  served  the  Pope  now,  instead  of  Visconti,  Brake- 
speare  craved  speech  with  him  alone. 

"I  blame  not  what  thou  has  done,"  Ralph  said.  "Thy 
brain  is  wiser  than  mine,  and  thy  conscience,  I  dare  swear, 
every  whit  as  tender.  Nevertheless,  thou  goest  this  day 
farther  than  I  care  to  follow.  I  have  run  up  no  score 
with  Mother  Church  that  I  wot  of,  since  we  cried  quits 
down  there  in  Bourgogne ;  but  I  will  not  take  her  pay, 
nor  blunt  sword  in  her  cause.  So  I  am  come  to  say  fare- 
well ere  I  ride  back  again  and  see  what  is  adoing  beyond 
Alps.  Good  luck  go  with  thee,  whether  thou  fightest  for 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  319 

Pope,  or  Prince,  or  Kaiser ;  and  may  men  deal  with  thee, 
even  as  thou  hast  dealt  with  me." 

Hawkwood  was  bitterly  vexed  and  something  angered ; 
but  he  was  too  wise  to  try  persuasion  when  the  other's 
purpose  was  set,  and  too  proud,  perchance,  to  use  en- 
treaty ;  so,  with  kind  and  courteous  adieus,  and  a  gift  of 
a  rich  jewel,  he  let  his  ancient  comrade  depart.  Ere 
night  those  two  had  gripped  hands  for  the  last  time ;  and 
before  dawn  Sir  Ralph  Brakespeare  rode  westwards  out 
of  Bologna,  with  Lanyon  and  five  others  in  his  train. 

The  aspect  of  things  in  France  during  the  last  eight 
years  had  greatly  changed.  Some  names  of  note  were' 
borne  no  longer  on  the  muster-roll  of  either  army  and 
others  had  arisen  destined  to  be  yet  more  famous.  Henry 
of  Lancaster's  sword  that  had  never  yet  had  time  to 
gather  rust  hung  idle  now  over  his  tomb  in  Leicester 
chancel.  King  John,  a  prisoner  again  by  his  own  free- 
will, had  eaten  away  his  generous  heart  in  Savoy  Palace : 
and  prelates  and  peers,  who  had  set  him  at  naught  while 
living,  flocked  to  do  honor  to  his  bones  when  they  were 
laid  near  those  of  his  father,  under  St.  Denis's  altar. 
Charles  the  Wise  was  each  day  proving  himself  more 
worthy  of  his  title  and  inheritance ;  better  advisers,  too, 
and  more  fortunate  if  not  more  valorous  soldiers,  were 
around  him  than  those  who  had  served  his  father.  The 
war-cry,  "St.  Yves  Guesclin,"  had  been  heard  often  and 
loudly  since  it  rang  out  in  the  streets  of  Mantes ;  and 
nobles  who  awhile  ago  would  not  have  glanced  aside  as 
the  poor  Breton  knight  passed  by,  veiled  bonnet  now,  in 
presence  of  the  Constable,  first  of  Castile,  then  of  France. 

Sharp  work  had  been  going  on  beyond  the  Pyrenees 
wherein  almost  all  the  worthies  of  King  Edward's  wars 
took  part.  It  is  well  known  how  Pedro  the  Cruel — hav- 
ing taxed  the  patience  of  all  men  to  the  uttermost,  till 
the  Church  laid  him  under  her  anathema,  and  not  a 


320  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

Spaniard  would  draw  sword  in  his  defense  when  Henry 
of  Transtamare  ousted  him  from  his  throne — by  the  help 
of  Edward  of  Wales,  was  set  up  once  thereon,  and  per- 
mitted to  do  a  little  more  of  the  devil's  work.  Surely  in 
an  evil  hour  the  Black  Prince  opened  his  ears  to  the 
whine  of  the  crippled  leopard,  and  shut  them  against  the 
advice  of  the  wise  counsellors  and  valiant  knights  who 
besought  him  to  hold  his  hand.  Thenceforward,  his  own 
life  began  to  darken  so  drearily  that  some  scarce  remem- 
bered the  glories  of  its  dawning  and  its  noon.  Fair  for- 
tune in  the  field  abode  with  him  to  the  last ;  scarcely  at 
Cregy  or  Poitiers  was  achieved  a  victory  more  complete 
than  at  Niajarra ;  and  the  hand  that  clove  right  to  the 
centre  of  the  Breton  battalion  and  received  Bertrand  du 
Guesclin's  sword  could  scarce  be  said  to  have  lost  its 
strength  or  cunning.  But  the  Black  Prince  soon  grew 
sick  of  the  caprice,  and  cruelty,  and  falsehood  of  the 
tyrant  whom  he  was  not  ashamed  to  champion,  and 
wended  back  his  way  discontentedly  across  the  Pyrenees ; 
perchance  he  was  not  greatly  grieved  when,  a  while  after, 
the  news  came  that  Henry  the  Bastard  reigned  over 
Castile  unquestioned,  having  avenged  the  blood  of 
Blanche  of  Bourbon  at  the  cost  of  fratricide.  Edward's 
frank  and  generous  nature  was  so  hardened  and  em- 
bittered now,  that  neither  conscience,  nor  the  pangs  of 
the  dire  malady  he  brought  with  him  from  Spain,  warned 
him  to  forbear  oppression.  The  vassals  of  Aquitaine  had 
suffered  sorely,  before  the  last  burden  of  the  fouage  tax 
caused  them  to  wax  restive,  and  carry  their  complaints 
before  Charles  the  Wise.  If  the  pretext  on  which  the 
English  King  first  took  up  arms  were  light  and  flimsy, 
those  of  the  second  armament  were  more  shadowy  still ; 
and  a  subtler  casuist  than  Simon  Tibbald  might  have 
been  puzzled  to  gloss  over  stern  facts,  so  as  to  make 
his  sovereign  appear  in  this  matter  void  of  offense. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  321 

He  of  Toulouse,  and  the  other  preachers  who  thun- 
dered forth  anathemas  and  promises  from  all  French  pul- 
pits, had  easier  text  to  work  upon.  They  spared  not  to 
improve  the  occasion ;  claiming-  as  a  mere  right  the  help 
of  heaven,  whose  hand,  they  said,  was  already  laid  heav- 
ily on  their  most  terrible  enemy.  The  seed  fell  on  fertile 
ground.  The  memories  of  Cregy  and  Poitiers  were 
faded  now  and  dim.  Few  of  the  credulous  and  eager 
ears  that  listened  now  had  heard  the  whistle  of  clothyard 
shafts ;  or,  if  they  had  heard,  it  had  been  as  the  patter  of 
a  summer  shower  instead  of  the  rush  of  storm-rain.  Men 
had  confidence,  too,  in  their  new  ruler,  knowing  him  to 
be  not  only  bold,  but  cool  and  capable,  and  generous 
without  being  prodigal ;  whether  mercenaries  were  to  be 
hired,  or  munitions  provided,  he  would  have  value  for 
every  coin  in  his  full  treasury ;  and  Charles  had  been  for 
years  past  husbanding  his  crown  revenues. 

In  truth,  this  second  war  began  with  evil  omen  and 
auspice  to  the  Red  Cross.  In  the  very  first  year  thereof 
a  sore  gap  that  never  could  be  filled  was  made  in  the  roll 
of  English  worthies.  In  a  mere  skirmish  on  the  bridge 
of  Lussac,  the  spear  of  a  Breton  squire  sped  straighter  to 
its  mark  than  the  best  lances  of  France  had  done  on 
fifty  stricken  fields.  An  hour  later  John  Chandos  lay 
a-dying ;  and  the  moan  made  in  Mortemer  was  prolonged 
throughout  Guienne  and  Aquitaine,  and  taken  up  in  Eng- 
land from  the  Welsh  Marches  to  the  Scottish  Border; 
and  many  voices  echoed  the  words  of  the  Black  Prince 
when  the  news  were  brought  to  Bordeaux: — 

"God  help  us,  then!  We  have  lost  all  on  the  hither 
side  of  the  seas!" 

A  pompous  epitaph  would  ill  have  served  the  strong, 
simple  champion.  Over  his  tomb  only  these  words  were 
written : — 


322  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

Ye,  Jehan  Chandault,  des  Anglois  capitaine, 
Fort  chevalier,  de  Poictou  seneschal 
Apres  avoir  fait  guerre  tres  lointaine 
Au  rois  Francois,  tant  a  pied  qu'a  cheval, 
Et  pris  Bertrand  de  Guesclin  en  un  val, 
Les  Poitevins  pres  Lussac,  me  diffirent, 
A  Mortemer,  mon  corps  enterrer  firent 
En  un  cerceuil  eleve  tout  de  neuf, 
L'an  mil  trois  cens  avec  soirante-neuf. 

Sorrow  and  bodily  anguish  only  made  the  Black  Prince 
more  hard  and  bitter.  The  first  year  of  the  war  was 
marked  by  a  deed  that  would  have  brought  dishonor  on 
an  holier  cause.  There  was  sharp  provocation.  Edward 
had  ever  held  the  Bishop  of  Limoges  in  great  trust  and 
honor,  and  bestowed  on  him  great  favor.  When  the  town 
revolted  it  was  but  natural  that  he  should  be  sorely 
angered.  He  swore  his  great  oath — saith  Jehan  Frois- 
sart — which  he  never  had  yet  broken — "by  his  father's 
soul" — that  he  would  set  hand  to  no  other  enterprise  till 
he  had  made  priest  and  burgher  pay  for  their  treach- 
ery; and,  mustering  at  Cognac  his  vassals  from  Poitou, 
Saintonge,  and  Gascony,  together  with  the  Free  Lances 
from  Hainault,  compassed  the  city  in  close  leaguer. 

There  were  bold  spirits  within  the  walls ;  and  Ville- 
mur,  Beaufort,  and  De  La  Roche  did  their  devoirs  as 
knights  and  captains  with  hearty  good  will ;  but  neither 
skill  nor  courage  availed  against  the  steady  advance  of 
the  English  miners,  who,  for  one  long  month,  pushed 
forward  their  sap  till  they  came  to  tell  the  Prince  that 
he  had  but  to  give  the  word  and  the  way  should  be 
made  plain  over  ditch  and  rampart  into  the  heart  of  the 
town.  All  night  long  the  props  smouldered  in  the  mines ; 
just  after  dawn  a  great  flake  of  the  wall  crushed  down 
outwards,  and  the  English  trumpets  sounded  assault. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  323 

Right  in  front  of  the  stormers,  when  gate  and  barrier 
were  down,  a  litter  was  borne.  Thereon  was  laid  one 
who  never  would  mount  war-horse  more,  who,  with 
death  in  his  own  face  and  eyes  heavy  with  pain,  gloated 
over  the  carnage  and  checked  it  not  till  three  thousand 
innocents  had  atoned  for  the  treason  of  their  master. 
This  was  the  man  who,  when  the  sun  was  setting  over 
the  field  of  Poictiers,  ere  he  would  sup,  served  his  royal 
captive  on  bended  knee ;  and  spake  such  gentle  and  gen- 
erous words  that  some  were  moved  to  tears  who  held 
such  weakness  in  scorn.  The  old  chivalry  flashed  forth 
for  an  instant,  once,  before  all  was  done,  when  the  litter 
drew  near  the  spot  where  John  de  Villemur  and  Hugh 
De  La  Roche  had  set  their  backs  to  the  wall,  and  with 
four  score  more  held  their  ground  against  thrice  that 
number,  led  on  by  Lancaster,  Cambridge,  and  Pembroke. 
To  those  valiant  men-at-arms  the  Black  Prince  listened, 
when  at  last  they  proffered  to  surrender,  and  gave  them 
fair  quarter ;  though  the  shrieks  of  women  and  children, 
ringing  in  his  ears  since  daybreak,  had  found  them  deaf 
as  an  adder's.  Then  leaving  a  heap  of  ghastly  ruins  be- 
hind him,  in  place  of  a  goodly  city,  Edward  marched 
back  on  Bordeaux.  There  he  escaped  not  long  God's 
visitation ;  for  he  lost  suddenly  his  eldest  son,  and  the 
fatal  dropsy  grew  upon  him  till  he  was  fain  to  listen  to 
the  advice  of  his  leeches  and  to  sail  from  Aquitaine  for 
the  last  time. 

A  striking  picture,  albeit  a  sombre,  might  have  been 
made  of  that  last  assembly  in  the  audience-hall  of  Bor- 
deaux, when  all  the  Gascon  and  Poitevin  barons  paid 
their  last  act  of  fealty,  and  bade  their  suzerain  farewell, 
kissing  him  on  the  mouth.  We  need  not  follow  the 
Black  Prince  on  the  dreary  homeward  voyage ;  graver 
historians,  indeed,  have  found  nothing  worthy  of  record 
Concerning,  his  latter  days. 


324  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

Before  the  spring  of  1371,  all  these  things  had  been 
performed ;  and  men  were  still  speaking  with  knit  brows 
and  bated  breath  of  the  sack  of  Limoges,  as  Sir  Ralph 
Brakespeare  rode  down  the  westward  slopes  of  Mont 
Genevre. 


T 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

HACQUEMONT  AGAIN. 

HOUGH  Charles  the  Wise  in  the  last  seven 
years  had  wrought  infinite  good  to  his  realm, 
both  within  and  without  its  borders,  there  were 
certain  evils  that  his  patient  tact  could  not 
abate,  much  less,  root  out  utterly.  In  the  more  distant 
provinces — not  to  speak  of  the  debatable  ground  over 
which  the  Lilies  of  France  and  the  Red  Cross  of  England 
floated  by  turns — not  a  little  of  oppression  and  misrule 
still  prevailed;  and  the  voice  of  the  poor  and  needy  in 
their  distress,  though  it  went  up  shrill  and  often,  waxed 
faint  before  it  reached  the  throne. 

Heaviest  amongst  the  burdens  of  the  land — now,  as 
heretofore — were  the  terrible  Free  Companies.  There 
was  brief  respite  from  the  plague  of  the  canker-worm 
whilst  the  wars  were  waging  in  Spain ;  for  large  bodies 
of  the  Freebooters  fought  there  under  the  Black  Prince's 
banner,  and  Bertrand  du  Guesclin  exacted  from  his  mer- 
cenaries the  full  value  of  their  hire,  setting  them  ever  in 
front  of  the  battle.  So  thousands  of  those  marauders 
left  their  bones  to  whiten  beyond  the  Pyrenees ;  yet  thou- 
sands found  their  way  back,  by  twos,  and  threes,  and 
scores,  and  began  to  draw  together  in  bands ;  greedy, 
reckless,  and  merciless  as  ever.  Amongst  those  who  sat 
down  before  the  doomed  city  of  Limoges,  were  found 
Perducas  d'Albret,  Lanuit,  the  Bastards  of  L'Esparre  and 
Breteuil,  and  many  other  names  of  evil  omen  and  re- 


326          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

pute.  And  be  sure  they  bore  their  full  part  in  the  devil's 
carnival  that  ensued  when  the  siege  was  over  and  the 
sack  begun.  As  Sir  Ralph  Brakespeare  rode  westward 
from  the  Lower  Alps,  through  Dauphigne,  Viverais,  and 
Auvergne,  he  passed  along  a  track  whence  few  could 
have  emerged  without  paying  toll  in  purse  or  person ;  for 
divers  of  the  castles  perched  on  the  platforms  of  basalt 
cliffs  and  limestone  hills,  were  garrisoned  now  by  cap- 
tains of  Free  Companies.  But  albeit  those  wolves  would 
have  battened  on  one  of  their  fellows,  crippled  or  helpless, 
not  less  ravenously  than  on  strange  flesh,  they  lost  not 
their  cunning  instinct  when  most  an-hungered.  From 
their  posts  of  espial,  looking  down  on  mountain  pass  or 
forest  gorge,  their  scouts  saw  the  little  company  of  seven 
wending  warily  along.  They  scented  gold  in  the  valise 
strapped  on  Lanyon's  croupe,  and  licked  their  chops  as 
they  snarled  to  each  other  that  the  prey  was  too  tough 
and  strong  to  mell  with ;  neither  did  they  guess  that  the 
stalwart  figure  towering  on  his  mighty  destrier  a  span 
above  the  tallest  of  his  following,  might  once  have  been 
familiar  to  the  eyes  of  some  of  them.  So  Ralph  Brakes- 
peare passed  through  the  midst  of  his  ancient  comrades, 
unwelcomed  and  unharmed. 

On  a  certain  afternoon  in  April  their  journey  was  well- 
nigh  done,  for  the  peaks  of  the  hill-range,  trending  east- 
ward of  Mount  Cantal,  loomed  now  in  their  rear  misty- 
blue,  and  the  Dordogne  flowed  on  their  left  through  a 
broadening  valley.  Lanyon  had  that  tenacious  memory 
for  external  objects,  not  uncommon  with  men  of  slow 
reasoning  power  and  stolid  temperament.  At  a  certain 
spot  he  checked  his  horse,  and  let  the  others  pass  him ; 
while  he  peered  curiously  around,  till  his  face  began  to 
lighten  with  a  pleased  look  of  recognition,  like  that  of  one 
who,  after  long  absence,  finds  himself  again  on  familiar 
ground.  Glancing  backward  over  his  shoulder  often,  as 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.          32? 

was  his  constant  habit  when  on  the  march,  Sir  Ralph 
Brakespeare  saw  his  follower's  halt,  and  marveled  a  little 
thereat. 

"What  is  it,  Will?"  he  said,  reining  back  a  little,  so 
that  there  might  be  no  need  to  raise  his  voice — "See'st 
thou  sign  of  ambush  in  the  oak  copse  yonder?  Mayhap 
thine  eyes  are  sharper  than  mine ;  yet  I  thought  but  now, 
'twas  hardly  cover  enough  for  a  clump  of  spears." 

"Nay,  my  lord,"  the  other  replied.  He  had  fallen  into 
this  form  of  address  towards  his  master  from  hearing 
others  use  it  so  frequently,  but  the  courtly  air  of  Italy  had 
in  no  wise  softened  his  manner,  and  his  voice  was  gruffer 
than  ever. — "Nay,  I  suspect  no  ambushment.  'Twould 
be  hard  measure  an  we  were  trapped  so  near  our  har- 
boring. But  this  place  brings  back  old  times  apace — ay, 
and  the  sharpest  course  that  ever  I  ran  in  saddle.  A  long 
bow-shot  in  front,  where  the  track  turns  sharply,  the  poor 
beast  under  me  came  headlong  down ;  across  that  broken 
ground  I  ran,  stumbling  from  breathlessness  at  every 
step,  till  I  broke  in  among  their  camp-fires ;  under  the  lee 
of  yon  oak-wood,  Sir  John  Hawkwood's  pennon  was 
pitched.  By  Saint  Giles!  I  see  the  good  knight's  face 
now,  waxing  white  and  grim  as  I  stammered  out  my 
news.  Marry!  my  joints  have  grown  stiffer  since  then. 
I  doubt  if  I  could  match  now  either  the  ride  or  the  run." 

A  quaint  expression,  something  akin  to  melancholy, 
softened  the  speaker's  rugged  face  ;  and  a  thoughtful  look 
came  into  Ralph  Brakespeare's  eyes,  though  he  answered 
cheerily : 

"What  would'st  thou  have,  grumbler?  Thinkest  thou 
that  Time  will  stand  still  for  thee  and  me?  Fifteen  long 
years — years  not  of  idlesse  either — have  slipped  by  since 
then,  and  they  must  needs  have  set  their  mark  on  us  both  ; 
yet  we  have  stomach  and  strength  left  for  a  hard  day's 
work,  I  trow.  Nathless,  we  have  earned  some  space  of 


328          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

rest  and  refreshment.  We  shall  find  both  at  Hacquemont, 
and  a  brave  welcome  to  boot,  unless  all  are  dead  who 
said  'God  speed'  when  we  set  forth.  Let  us  put  forward ; 
our  cattle  are  fresh  now,  and  I  would  fain  housel  ere 
dark,  lest  our  coming  startle  the  good  folk  there." 

So  the  little  troop  passed  on,  making  good  speed  where- 
soever the  ground  allowed  it.  An  hour  after  sundown, 
they  passed  up  the  narrow  roadway  leading  to  the  bar- 
bican gate  of  Hacquemont ;  and  Lanyon,  by  his  mas- 
ter's orders,  woke  up  the  echoes  without — and  perchance 
the  warder  within — by  a  long  shrill  bugle-call. 

Out  of  a  loophole  over  the  portcullis  there  peered  forth 
into  the  twilight  an  old,  sour,  withered  face,  and  a 
cracked  voice  asked,  half  querulously,  half  timorously, 

"Who  waited  without,  and  what  was  their  pleasure?" 

"I  would  fain  know  if  the  Lord  Philippe  of  Hacque- 
mont yet  lives ;  or,  if  he  be  dead,  who  holds  this  castle 
in  his  place?" 

The  ancient  warder  did  not  recognize  the  deep  stern 
tones  that  indeed  were  scarce  so  steady  as  their  wont ; 
yet  he  felt  it  was  no  open  enemy  or  traitorous  marauder 
that  spoke ;  so  he  answered  almost  cheerfully : 

"Yea,  Messire,  our  good  baron  yet  lives ;  albeit,  his 
strength  seemeth  to  diminish  daily,  and  'tis  long  since 
he  hath  left  his  chamber.  Once  more,  I  pray  you  to  de- 
clare to  me  your  names  that  I  may  deliver  them  to  my 
lord  forthwith,  if  he  be  waking.  He  must  needs  have 
been  startled  by  your  bugle-blast." 

"Say  then,  that  Ralph  Brakespeare  waits  to  pay  to  the 
Lord  of  Hacqilemont  his  humble  duty,  and  craves,  for  the 
sake  of  old  acquaintance,  one  night's  shelter  at  least,  for 
his  following." 

There  was  a  rattle  of  iron  as  if  ponderous  keys  had 
fallen,  and  a  cry  of  astonishment  from  above. 

"Holy  St.  Ursula !    Will  my  lord  ever  forgive  me  when 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  329 

he  knows  whom  I  have  kept  waiting  at  his  gate?  A 
malison  on  these  dim  eyes  and  dull  ears  that  looked  on 
and  listened  to  the  saviour  of  us  all  like  a  stranger !  Lo, 
I  come  instantly.  None  other  save  your  own  voice  should 
announce  your  coming." 

As  the  horsemen  filed  in  under  the  barbican  arch,  other 
servitors  had  gathered  in  the  courtyard,  bearing  torches ; 
and  these  marveled  greatly  to  see  crusty  old  Gilles — so 
chary  of  courtesy  to  man,  woman,  or  child — cast  him- 
self on  his  knees,  embracing  the  mailed  foot  of  the  fore- 
most rider  more  devoutly  than  he  had  ever  saluted  relic 
or  crucifix.  But  first  one,  then  another  of  the  more  an- 
cient retainers  recognized  the  face  and  figure  of  the 
stranger ;  and  throughout  the  group  there  ran  loud  mur- 
murs of  wonder  and  welcome,  as  they  knew  that  once 
more  there  stood  within  the  walls  of  Hacquemont,  the 
champion  whose  name  had  never  been  long  off  the  house- 
hold's lips  since  the  night  of  the  battle  on  the  stairs. 

Whilst  Brakespeare  unhelmed  himself  after  dismount- 
ing, he  bade  a  page  standing  by  go  before  him  to  an- 
nounce his  coming,  for  he  feared  the  effect  of  sudden 
surprise  on  the  sick  castellan.  Two  other  servitors,  bear- 
ing torches,  marshaled  the  knight  with  all  reverence  into 
the  keep,  and  through  the  presence-chamber.  Near  the 
top  of  the  second  stair  he  turned  and  looked  back.  All 
that  had  happened  in  those  long  years  became  for  an 
instant  a  vague,  distant  memory ;  and  every  incident  of 
that  one  night  stood  out  clear  and  sharp,  like  the  features 
of  a  landscape  when  a  hill-mist  lifts  suddenly.  It  seemed 
but  yester  even  that  he  stood  waiting  the  onslaught,  with 
the  mortier  burning  in  that  niche  on  the  right ;  he  heard 
again  the  trample  of  ironshod  feet  in  the  presence-cham- 
ber below ;  he  saw  again  the  crowd  of  visages  deformed 
by  greed  and  cruelty  and  lust  surging  up  the  stair;  he 
saw  the  whirl  of  the  crowbar  swayed  by  the  German 


330          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

giant ;  plainer  than  all — the  dark,  beautiful  face,  and  the 
evil,  lustrous  eyes  on  which  carrion-birds  had  battened 
long  ago.  He  saw  all  this,  with  his  hand  touching  the 
notch  in  the  pillar,  where  his  sword,  as  it  shivered,  cleft 
away  a  cantle  of  stone ;  and  his  pulse  leapt  up — as  it  had 
never  done  since,  in  any  one  of  the  battles  and  forays  in 
which  he  had  borne  a  forward  part — as  he  muttered,  half 
aloud — 

"Par die!  'Twas  a  royal  fray." 

There  was  very  little  of  vanity  in  that  strong,  simple 
nature  ;  not  more  than  twice  or  thrice  in  a  career  rife  with 
adventure  and  feats  of  arms  had  Ralph  Brakespeare  in- 
dulged in  the  luxury  of  self-praise.  He  almost  laughed 
in  scorn  of  his  own  weakness  as  he  turned  again  to  fol- 
low his  torch-bearers  who  had  already  half  mounted  the 
third  stair ;  but  his  face  was  grave  enough  as  he  stood  at 
the  curtained  doorway  of  the  chamber,  whence  issued 
broad  gleams  of  light  and  the  low  murmur  of  voices — 
a  chamber  that  he  remembered  right  well ;  for  he  had 
lain  long  therein,  when  the  chances  for  him  were  even 
of  life  and  death. 

Such  a  group  as  this,  Ralph  Brakespeare  looked  upon, 
as,  leaving  the  attendants  without,  he  passed  inwards 
alone : 

In  a  huge  arm-chair,  facing  the  door,  and  drawn  close 
to  the  hearth  whereon  logs  were  burning,  sat  the  Baron 
of  Hacquemont.  The  dark  green  hanging,  sweeping  to 
the  floor  on  either  side,  threw  out  in  relief  his  hair  and 
beard  of  an  intense  dead-white.  His  wan  face  was 
pinched  and  drawn  with  pain;  and  his  pale,  fleshless 
hands  were  working  nervously  as  they  rested  on  his 
furred  robe.  Over  the  back  of  the  chair,  holding  an  es- 
sence-phial, leaned  a  dark,  handsome  lady,  wearing  wid- 
ow's weeds.  A  little  withdrawn  in  the  background  were 
two  other  figures;  one,  a  tall  man  on  the  hither  side  of 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.         331 

middle  age,  with  features  delicately  chiseled,  but  wear- 
ing rather  a  sad  and  pensive  expression ;  the  other,  the 
page  that  had  been  sent  forward  to  announce  Brake- 
speare. 

Treading  heefdfully,  so  as  to  deaden  the  rattle  of  his 
harness,  and  speaking  never  a  word,  the  knight  moved 
forward,  and  knelt  at  the  castellan's  feet — even  as  he  had 
knelt  on  that  night  when  those  two  interchanged  fare- 
well in  the  presence-chamber.  Very  slowly,  with  an  ef- 
fort painful  to  witness,  Philippe  de  Hacquemont  lifted 
one  trembling  hand  till  it  rested  on  the  other's  bowed 
head.  His  voice,  scarcely  raised  above  a  whisper,  first 
broke  the  silence. 

"I  render  thanks  to  our  gentle  Lord  Jesus,  and  I  vow 
a  chalice  to  the  blessed  St.  Ursula,  my  son,  for  this  our 
meeting.  Thou  comest  late — yet  not  too  late — for  we 
have  not  grown  weary  of  waiting.  Lift  up  thy  face,  I 
pray  thee,  that  I  may  look  upon  it  again.  Changed — ah 
me ! — sorely,  sorely  changed.  Time  hath  dealt  more 
roughly  with  thee  than  with  me.  What  hast  thou,  at  thy 
years,  to  do  with  grey  hairs  and  a  furrowed  brow  ?" 

Ralph  strove  to  answer  lightly  but  his  voice  was  hoarse 
and  husky. 

"Ay,  my  good  lord;  flesh  and  blood  wear  faster  than 
Milan  steel,  even  if  it  have  no  chance  to  rust.  Such  as  I 
have  no  cause  to  grumble,  so  long  as  we  can  carry  har- 
ness and  couch  lance.  I  would  I  had  found  yourself  in 
better  case.  I  had  hoped  to  have  lighted  on  you  where 
you  love  to  sit — in  the  oriel  you  wot  of." 

The  baron  shook  his  head,  and  there  flitted  across  his 
lip  his  old  melancholy  smile. 

"Nay,  nay,  my  son ;  such  hope  was  overweening.  From 
this  chamber  I  never  shall  stir,  till  they  bear  me  out  to  the 
chapel  below,  chanting  the  Miserere.  Others,  too,  have 
changed,  it  seems,  besides  me  and  thee.  Thou  hast  for- 


332          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

gotten  one  old  friend  at  least;  not  one  glance  hast  thou 
vouchsafed  to  Odille,  who  waits  thy  greeting." 

Rising  hastily  to  his  feet,  Brakespeare  stood  face  to 
face  with  the  dark  lady  in  widow's  weeds.  Fifteen  years 
had  matured  sparkling  loveliness  into  stately  beauty,  and 
the  features  were  to  him  as  the  features  of  a  stranger; 
but  he  knew  the  frank,  kind,  bright  eyes  instantly  again. 
Her  voice,  as  she  welcomed  him,  had  not  lost  its  ring,  and 
the  hand  she  held  forth  to  meet  Ralph's  lips  was  soft  as 
ever. 

"I,  too,  return  thanks  for  your  coming,  Sir  Knight — 
ah,  we  heard  long  ago,  how  and  where  you  won  your 
golden  spurs — I  think  'twill  put  new  life  into  my  father's 
veins ;  he  hath  not  spoken  or  looked  so  like  himself  these 
months  past.  You  are  never  long  out  of  his  thoughts ; 
but  chiefly  at  this  season — you  wot  why — he  wearies  for 
your  presence,  or,  at  the  least,  to  learn  how  you  are  far- 
ing. Never  a  pilgrim,  or  minstrel,  or  wayfarer,  coming 
from  afar,  housels  here,  but  is  questioned  concerning  Sir 
Ralph  Brakespeare ;  and  not  a  few  have  spoken  of  your 
doings ;  though  since  you  crossed  the  Alps,  tidings 
reached  us  more  rarely." 

A  dark  red  flush  rose  on  the  knight's  brow.  Though 
oftentimes  during  the  wild  condottiere  life,  he  h;id  felt 
sharp  twinges  of  shame,  he  had  never  loathed  it  so  bit- 
terly as  now — standing,  perhaps  for  the  first  time  these 
many  years,  in  the  presence  of  a  pure  gentlewoman,  born 
of  a  race  whose  escutcheon  was  clear  from  any  stain  of 
felonrie. 

"Perchance  'tis  best  so,  noble  lady" — he  answered, 
curtly.  "No  good  report,  even  if  they  magnified  not  the 
evil,  could  have  been  spoken  concerning  me  of  late.  We, 
who  followed  Hawkwood,  can  claim  no  better  credit  than 
earning  our  hire  honestly.  I  am  heartsick  of  such  war- 
fare, where  none  knoweth  under  what  banner  he  will 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  333 

fight  on  the  morrow ;  and  I  have  done  therewith  for  ever 
and  aye.  I  crave  your  pardon  if  I  touch  a  green  wound 
rudely ;  but  it  irks  me,  to  look  on  you  first  in  widow's 
weeds." 

"I  have  worn  them  these  four  years" — she  said,  bow- 
ing her  head  on  her  breast — "since,  in  a  skirmish  before 
Villefranche,  my  dear  lord  and  husband,  Amaury  de 
Champrecourt,  was  slain.  It  pleased  God  our  marriage 
should  be  childless ;  so  I  came  straightway  hither  to  be 
my  father's  nurse.  Out  of  my  sorrow  came  this  much  of 
good,  for  my  presence  hath  been  sorely  needed  here  since 
our  poor  Marguerite  died." 

Ralph  had  expected  this.  From  the  first  moment  that 
he  rose  up  and  looked  on  Odille  standing  alone  behind 
the  baron's  chair,  he  felt  sure  that  one  place  was  vacant 
in  that  family,  and  another  filled  in  the  household  of 
Heaven.  He  knew  that  the  pale,  patient  mourner's  days 
of  waiting  were  ended ;  and  that  the  great  brown  eyes, 
once  dim  with  tears,  had  brightened  once  again  with  the 
light  that  should  never  be  quenched,  as  they  rested  on  the 
face  of  Loys  de  Chastelnaye.  Nevertheless,  he  drew 
back,  blenching  a  little,  like  one  stricken  by  a  sharp  dis- 
appointment. It  was  almost  a  mockery  to  express  sor- 
row upon  such  a  change ;  yet  some  such  words  would  his 
lips  have  tried  to  frame,  had  not  Odille  spoken  first,  as  if 
she  read  his  thoughts. 

"You  need  not  be  grieved" — she  said — "none  of  us 
were  wicked  enough  to  begrudge  her  her  rest.  She  spoke 
of  you  on  the  day  she  died,  and  bade  me  deliver  to  you 
her  kind  farewell,  if  ever  we  met  again."  Glancing  down- 
wards here,  she  broke  off  suddenly.  "I  might  have 
guessed  it.  This  great  joy  hath  overtaxed  my  father's 
strength." 

Of  a  truth,  the  baron's  eyelids  were  fast  closed ;  and, 


334          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

though  his  face  could  scarce  wax  whiter,  a  fixed  deathly 
look  possessed  it  now. 

"Nay,  you  need  not  fear" — Odille  went  on  in  a  whisper, 
as  she  bathed  her  father's  forehead  with  the  essence ; 
"  'tis  but  one  of  the  fainting-  fits  that  are  common  with 
him  of  late.  Yet  'twill  be  best  that  you  leave  us  alone 
for  a  while.  I  will  descend  when  he  settles  to  slumber ; 
he  mostly  drowses  after  such  swoons.  Messire  Gualtier 
here  will  take  heed  to  the  bestowal  of  your  retinue ;  for 
yourself,  you  wot  well  that  all  within  these  walls  is  at 
your  disposing,  not  less  than  when  you  held  us  in  gage." 

The  tall,  grave  man  before  mentioned  came  forward 
out  of  the  background,  and  bent  low  before  the  knight, 
who  followed  him  from  the  chamber,  without  speaking 
again.  An  hour  later  Ralph  sate  alone  at  supper,  with 
strangely  little  appetite  for  one  who  had  ridden  so  far 
and  fast ;  and  Gualtier  de  Marsan  ministered  to  him, 
sparing  no  jot  of  the  observance  due  from  squire  to 
knight,  and  answering  all  questions  with  ready  courtesy. 
Nevertheless,  if  Brakespeare  had  been  less  busy  with  his 
own  thoughts,  or  had  chanced  to  glance  suddenly  over 
his  shoulder,  he  might  have  been  puzzled  by  the  look — 
half  of  inquiry,  half  of  disquietude — that  ever  and  anon 
broke  through  the  calm  of  the  other's  dreamy  eyes. 

Later  in  the  evening,  the  Lady  of  Champrecourt  came 
down  ;  and  from  her  Ralph  learned,  that  Gualtier  de  Mar- 
san was  near  of  kin  to  her  deceased  husband,  and  had 
been  his  body-esquire. 

"My  dear  Amaury  loved  him  as  his  own  right  hand" — 
Odille  said ;  "and  it  was  Gualtier  who — himself  sorely 
wounded — saved  my  lord's  body  from  plunderers'  hands 
at  Villefranche ;  since  then  he  hath  abode  with  us  here. 
I  had  not  the  heart  to  bid  him  go  forth,  poor  as  he  is, 
and  with  few  kinsmen  to  care  for  him  now,  Further- 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.          335 

more,  he  is  very  gentle  and  skilful  in  his  tendance  of  my 
father,  who  likes  him  well." 

Another  than  her  listener  would  perchance  have  no- 
ticed a  consciousness  in  the  lady's  manner,  like  that  of  one 
who  perforce  makes  excuse,  and  a  treacherous  blush  on 
her  cheek.  But  Ralph's  eyes,  that  could  catch  a  glimmer 
of  a  spearhead  half  a  league  away,  saw  naught  of  this ; 
and  he  changed  the  subject,  so  soon  as  he  could  do  so 
courteously  for  others  that  touched  him  more  nearly. 

Those  two  sat  late  in  discourse,  but  Odille's,  "fair 
good-night,"  was  a  vain  form  of  words.  It  was  long 
since  the  Free  Companion  had  rested  on  so  soft  a  couch, 
or  in  such  a  richly-furnished  chamber ;  but  sleep,  that 
had  seldom  been  coy  in  guard-room  or  bivouac,  stood 
obstinately  aloof;  and  he  rose  soon  after  dawn,  more 
feverish  and  weary  than  he  had  often  been  after  ten  hours 
on  outpost. 

There  was  nothing  strange  in  this.  Most  sea-farers 
say  that  their  first  night  on  shore  is  sure  to  be  broken ; 
they  miss  the  sway  of  the  surge,  the  hiss  of  the  cloven 
water,  the  creak  of  the  cordage,  the  tramp  of  feet  over- 
head, albeit  all  those  sounds  had  become  an  abomina- 
tion to  them  of  late ;  it  is  only  after  the  second  or  third 
day,  that  they  begin  to  enjoy  the  land  comforts  they  have 
pined  for.  There  are  few  keener  pleasures  in  this  life, 
than  the  slow  natural  reaction  leading  to  complete  re- 
pose. 

Just  so  it  fared  with  Ralph  Brakespeare.  As  day  fol- 
lowed day,  he  settled  more  and  more  into  his  place  in 
the  household ;  till  at  last  Hacquemont  seemed  more  like 
to  home  than  Bever  had  ever  been  in  his  boyhood.  The 
time  never  hung  heavy  on  his  hands.  In  the  morning 
he  would  direct  the  martial  exercises  of  the  archers  and 
men-at-arms — the  garrison  was  more  numerous  and  ef- 
ficient than  it  had  been  formerly;  after  the  nooning,  he 


336          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

would  ride  forth  with  Odille  and  two  or  three  attendants 
a-hawking  along  the  valley  of  the  Correze,  where  there 
was  no  lack  of  quarry,  for  the  baron  had  recovered 
strength  marvelously,  and  they  feared  not  to  leave  him 
for  some  space  alone.  All  his  evenings  were  spent  in  that 
upper  chamber,  where  Philippe  de  Hacquemont  listened, 
with  a  keenness  like  that  of  childhood,  to  such  stories  of 
wild  adventure  as  the  Free-Lance  was  not  ashamed  to 
tell ;  whilst  Odille  sat  over  her  broidery-work — glancing 
up  ever  and  anon  with  a  low  exclamation  of  fear,  or  pity, 
or  wonder,  and  the  prettiest  shiver  of  her  round  white 
shoulders ;  and  Gualtier  de  Marsan  stood  in  the  back- 
ground— a  look  of  disquietude,  that  could  scarce  be 
termed  discontent,  darkening  more  and  more  on  his  sad, 
handsome  face. 

It  was  a  thoroughly  domestic  household  throughout. 
Lanyon's  rugged  visage  softened  into  a  sort  of.  stolid 
beatitude,  under  the  benign  influence  of  the  place.  His 
voice  could  not  soften  itself;  but  it  was  never  heard  to 
grumble ;  his  manner  towards  his  juniors  and  inferiors 
was  almost  paternal,  after  a  gruff  fashion ;  and  he  even 
struck  up  a  friendship,  to  the  wonder  of  all,  with  cross- 
grained  old  Gilles,  the  warder.  The  rentiers  who  had 
come  with  Brakespeare  from  beyond  the  Alps — though 
not  one  of  them,  since  early  boyhood,  had  probably  dwelt 
three  nights,  in  amity,  under  a  reputable  roof — were  dis- 
creet enough  to  rule  themselves  according  to  the  spirit  of 
the  time.  They  had  not  forgotten  how  prompt  and  piti- 
less their  leader  had  shown  himself  in  punishment  of  ex- 
cesses for  which  there  was  some  shadow  of  excuse,  and 
they  were  not  fools  enough  to  fancy  that  the  edge  of  his 
sword  had  grown  blunt,  or  his  arm  slow  to  smite,  because 
neither  had  been  lifted  of  late  in  any  but  mimic  broil. 

All  through  that  summer,  too,  there  was  a  lull  in  the 
war-storm,  that  for  so  many  years  past  had  been  blowing 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.          337 

— with  change  of  quarters,  it  is  true,  but  almost  without 
slack — athwart  the  realm  of  France ;  or,  at  least,  it  broke 
forth  only  in  brief  fitful  gusts  at  certain  points  of  the 
southern  frontier.  Barons  and  knights  not  a  few,  both  in 
Poitou  and  Limousin,  had  fallen  away  from  their  Eng- 
lish fealty ;  but  the  Red  Cross  still  held  its  own  through- 
out Aquitaine ;  and  John  of  Lancaster,  holding  court  in 
Bordeaux,  had  leisure  to  think  of  consoling  his  widow- 
hood, and  sating  his  ambition,  by  marriage  with  Con- 
stance of  Castile — a  fair,  gentle  princess,  if  the  chron- 
iclers may  be  believed.  Yet  it  was  an  ill-advised  match 
after  all.  Wise  men  shook  their  heads  as  they  asked 
what  luck  could  come  with  Peter  the  Cruel's  daughter? 
So,  indeed,  it  befell :  not  for  the  first  or  the  last  time  a 
Spanish  alliance  brought  with  it  a  curse.  But  none  the 
less  merrily  the  espousal  feast  was  held  in  Bordeaux ;  and 
none  the  less  gallantly  did  knight  and  ladies  ride  in  from 
all  the  borders  of  Guienne,  bringing  wedding  gifts  and  all 
good  wishes.  In  the  autumn  John  of  Lancaster  sailed 
away  for  England  with  his  new-made  bride ;  never  heed- 
ing— if  he  knew  it — that  Henry  of  Traastamare,  the 
Spanish  King,  had  in  his  wrath  and  fear,  sent  embassage 
to  Charles  the  Wise,  offering  to  make  common  cause 
against  England  to  the  uttermost  of  his.  power.  For  there 
wanted  not  many  in  his  realm  who  still  held  Henry  the 
Bastard  as  an  usurper,  and  would  have  listened  readily 
enough  to  John  of  Lancaster,  had  the  duke  been  bold 
enough  to  claim  the  crown  of  Castile  in  right  of  his  wife. 
It  is  not  hard  to  guess,  what  manner  of  answer  the  am- 
bassador carried  back  to  Leon.  Even  had  not  that  strong 
voice  of  Bertrand  du  Guesclin  been  close  to  his  ear  with 
counsel  and  encouragement,  Charles  would  scarce  have 
hesitated  to  close  readily  with  the  proffered  alliance 
against  Edward.  So  another  black  cloud  rose  on  the 
horizon  that  already  looked  dark  enough  for  England. 


338          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

Throughout  the  autumn  and  winter,  Sir  Ralph  Brake- 
speare  and  his  followers  tarried  in  peace  at  Hacquemont, 
neither  molested  nor  molesting,  for  the  castle  was  far 
enough  from  any  frontier  to  be  out  of  the  track  of  reg- 
ular organized  inroads ;  and,  with  such  an  addition  to 
its  garrison,  it  was  far  too  tough  an  enterprise  for  the 
strongest  of  the  scattered  Free  Companies  to  meddle 
with. 

It  fell  on  a  certain  day  in  the  early  spring  of  1372  that 
the  knight  and  the  castellan  sate  together  alone ;  for 
Odille,  under  a  safe  escort  led  by  Gualtier  de  Marsan, 
had  gone  to  visit  her  aunt,  Abbess  of  the  convent  of  St. 
Ursula,  some  three  leagues  distant.  The  Baron  of  Hac- 
quemont had  sat  silent  for  a  while,  with  eyes  half  closed, 
evidently  musing.  At  length  he  spoke,  gazing  intently 
in  his  companion's  face,  with  a  very  anxious  look  on  his 
own. 

"My  son ;  had  it  not  been  sin  to  question  God's  will,  I 
should  have  marveled,  a  year  agone,  why  it  pleased  Him 
to  keep  this  weak  taper  of  mine  flickering  on,  whilst  so 
many  brave  torches  were  quenched  utterly.  I  marvel  not 
now.  Doubtless,  there  was  a  purpose  in  this,  as  in  all 
other  things,  good  or  evil,  which  befall  us.  Canst  thou 
guess — nay,  I  wot  well  thou  canst  not — what  hath  been 
on  my  mind — waking  ay,  and  sleeping  sometimes — these 
many  days  and  nights  past?  Let  me  now  say  forth  my 
say.  Albeit  my  strength  is  wonderfully  sustained,  it  is 
not  always  I  am  able  for  long  discourse ;  so,  though  my 
speech  may  seem  strange — yea,  even  if  it  mislike  thee — 
hinder  me  not,  I  pray  thee,  till  I  have  told  thee  all  my 
mind." 

Then  slowly  and  painfully,  halting  often,  rather  from 
lack  of  breath  than  lack  of  words,  Philippe  de  Hacque- 
mont set  forth  the  project  which  he  had  brooded  over  till 
it  seemed  mature.  A  very  few  words  will  expound  it 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.          339 

sufficiently  for  our  purpose.  The  wish  nearest  and 
dearest  to  the  Baron's  heart  was  that  Ralph  Breakspeare 
should  wed  Odille  and  be  to  him  thenceforth  in  very 
deed  as  his  own  son — inheriting  Hacauemont,  and  all 
its  fair  appanage. 

"If  there  should  be  no  male  heir  of  my  adoption" — the 
baron  said — "the  fief  must  needs  lapse  to  the  Crown. 
True,  out  of  all  my  revenues,  which  of  late  have  far 
more  than  sufficed  our  needs,  I  have  laid  by  sufficient 
for  Odille's  maintenance,  should  she  live  three-score 
years.  The  money  is  at  usance  in  safe  hands ;  and,  even 
if  she  came  empty-handed,  there  would  ever  be  refuge 
open  to  her  in  St.  Ursula's  house  yonder ;  but  she  is  over 
young  and  fair  to  wear  out  her  days  in  mourning,  and 
her  nursing  task  here  must  needs  soon  be  done.  I  should 
go  to  Alix,  my  dame,  and  Marguerite,  my  daughter, 
with  a  right  quiet  spirit,  if  I  knew,  in  these  troublous 
times,  I  left  her  to  guardianship  like  thine.  Where  could 
I  look  for  starker  arm  or  braver  heart?" 

The  Free  Companion's  face,  especially  of  late  years, 
was  not  lightly  betrayed  into  an  expression  of  any  vio- 
lent emotion  whatsoever;  yet  there  passed  across  it 
now,  legibly  enough,  wonderment  at  first,  then  a  great 
gratitude,  then  the  darkness  of  a  greater  doubt.  He 
cleared  his  throat  once  or  twice,  and  shifted  uneasily 
where  he  sate,  like  one  puzzled  how  best  to  frame  a  re- 
ply. When  he  did  speak,  his  thanks  were  frank  and 
hearty  enough  to  satisfy  a  more  exacting  listener  than 
the  kind  old  castellan ;  yet  he  did  not  for  an  instant  feign 
to  believe  that  the  path  before  them  lay  open  and  clear. 

"Like  should  match  with  like" — he  ended,  with  one 
of  his  rare  smiles.  "The  Lady  Odille  deserves  younger 
and  gentler  bridegroom  than  I.  Nay,  my  lord,  I  guess 
what  you  would  say;  but  we  who  ride  with  our  lives  in 
our  hands  count  not  our  age  by  years.  A  bird,  liker 


340  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

herself  in  plumage,  would  be  more  fitting  mate ;  such 
for  example  as  Messire  Gualtier  de  Marsan." 

Few  had  ever  seen  on  Philippe  de  Hacquemont's  benign 
brow  so  dark  a  frown  as  settled  on  it  then. 

"I  looked  for  sober  answer  from  thee,  not  mockery  or 
gibe" — he  said.  "Hath  the  House  of  Hacquemont  be- 
come so  poor  and  lowly,  that  the  last  of  its  daughters 
should  mate  with  one  who  hath  barely  won  silver  spurs, 
and  hath  gained  no  los  save  in  tiltyard?  'Tis  a  kindly 
youth  enough,  with  a  rare  knack  at  virelay  or  viol,  and 
faithful,  doubtless,  after  his  fashion.  Yet,  sooner  than 
see  Odille's  hand  laid  in  his  trothplight,  I  would  see  her 
safe  behind  the  convent  grate.  If  I  thought  he  had  pre- 
sumed— " 

And  the  weak  tired  eyes  flashed  out  as  they  had  not 
done  for  many  a  day.  But  Ralph  Brakespeare  broke  in, 
his  voice  grave  even  to  sternness — 

"You  make  me  repent  my  frank  speaking,  my  lord. 
Such  baseness  never  was  in  me,  as  to  impute  to  the  Sieur 
de  Marsan,  or  your  daughter,  any  thought  unbeseeming 
their  several  conditions.  I  dare  avouch  the  one  as  pure 
as  snow — the  other  true  as  steel.  I  spake  of  the  gallant, 
only  as  an  ensample  of  what  your  heir  should  be  in  out- 
ward seeming." 

Even  before  old  age  and  long  sickness  had  tamed  him, 
Philippe  de  Hacquemont  never  could  nourish  resentment 
or  suspicion  long.  His  brow  cleared  swiftly ;  and  then 
those  two  fell  into  long  earnest  discourse,  bringing  about 
a  result  with  which  both  seemed  content.  It  seemed 
that  Ralph  Brakespeare  had  a  strange  hankering  to  set 
foot  in  England  once  more  before  severing  himself  from 
it  forever.  So  it  was  settled  that  he  and  his  body  squire 
should  ride  to  Bordeaux  the  following  week,  and  take 
ship  thence,  returning  to  Hacquemont  after  a  very  brief 
sojourn  beyond  the  seas ;  that  during  his  absence  the  cas- 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.          341 

tellan  should  broach  the  project  they  had  been  discussing 
to  his  daughter,  using — so  it  was  solemnly  agreed — no 
undue  influence  to  sway  her  decision ;  and  that  the  knight, 
on  his  coming  again,  should  accept  her  answer. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

WELCOME    TO    ENGLAND. 

|O  hindrance  befell  Brakespeare  and  his  squire 
on  their  journey  to  Bordeaux.  Whilst  in  gar- 
rison there  long  ago,  Ralph  had  had  acquaint- 
ance with  diverse  merchants  and  burghers  of 
the  better  class.  With  one  of  these  he  bestowed  their 
horses  and  harness ;  for  he  was  minded  to  land  in  Eng- 
land in  the  guise  of  a  peaceful  traveler,  bearing  no  out- 
ward signs  of  his  profession  or  estate,  beyond  estoc  and 
dagger  and  golden  spurs. 

The  communication  between  Bordeaux  and  Southamp- 
ton, if  not  so  rapid,  was  nearly  as  constant  then  as  now- 
a-days.  The  breeze  blew  steady  from  the  southeast,  and 
the  galliot  on  which  they  embarked  was  a  moderately- 
swift  sailer,  and  staggered  along  under  press  of  sail — at 
fair  speed — even  through  the  rollers  of  the  Biscayan  Bay. 
On  the  fifth  morning,  they  were  slipping  along  under 
the  lee  of  the  Wight,  and  anchored  safely  in  port  before 
noon.  The  knight  had  left  the  chief  part  of  his  worldly 
wealth  at  Hacquemont ;  but  the  leathern  belts,  which  both 
he  and  his  follower  wore  under  their  doublets,  were  well 
stuffed  with  bezants  and  golden  crowns.  So,  with  little 
delay  or  difficulty,  they  provided  themselves  in  South- 
ampton town  with  two  stout  hackneys  and  a  pack-horse 
to  carry  their  mails ;  and  a  three  days'  ride  brought  them 
to  Southampton  without  distressing  their  cattle. 

Fully  a  quarter  of  a  century  had  passed  away,  since 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.          343 

those  two  rode  through  Kentish  Street;  yet  not  a  fea- 
ture of  the  place  seemed  changed.  The  heavy  gables  and 
hanging  eaves  of  the  houses  on  either  side  looked  not  a 
whit  more  weather-beaten  ;  the  window-panes  not  a  whit 
duskier  with  dust  or  grime.  The  same  hideous  shapes 
of  beggary,  sickness,  and  decrepitude  beset  the  travelers, 
croaking  or  screeching  for  alms  ;  the  same  ill-favored 
faces  of  cut-purse  or  bravo  peered  out  at  the  tavern 
doorways  ;  and  there  on  the  right,  abode  —  a  trifle  more 
faint  and  blurred,  perchance,  but  still  plain  for  the  passer- 
by to  read  —  the  legend  : 


,  JUrmourer. 

Out  of  the  low-browed  forge,  as  before,  broad  red 
gleams  shot  athwart  the  roadway;  and,  as  before,  there 
rang  out  from  within,  in  a  certain  rude  rythm,  the 
chime  of  hammered  steel.  Ralph  felt  half-disappointed 
when,  as  he  drew  bridle,  there  came  forward  —  not  the 
burly  figure  he  had  first  seen  there,  but  another  man, 
younger,  taller,  and  slighter  ;  yet,  withal,  bearing  so 
strong  a  stamp  of  family  resemblance  that  the  knight 
framed  his  first  question  accordingly. 

"Good  youth  :  I  would  fain  inquire  concerning  your 
father,  who  sometime  traded  here.  It  is  five-and-twenty 
years  since  he  and  I  foregathered  and  our  acquaintance 
was  but  brief;  yet  I  would  fain  hear  that  he  lives  and 
thrives." 

After  a  quick  downward  glance  at  the  rider's  spurs, 
the  artisan  doffed  his  bonnet. 

"I  thank  your  knightly  worship"  —  he  said,  in  a  round, 
mellow  voice,  very  like  the  one  that  Ralph  remembered 
—  "my  father  yet  lives,  in  marvelous  good  health,  con- 
sidering his  years.  He  hath  long  been  highly  reputed 
among  our  burgesses  and  is  greatly  trusted  in  our  Ward. 
Good  sooth,  the  matters  of  Common  Council  need  at 


344          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

times  wise  and  wary  handling.  Nevertheless,  not  sel- 
dom he  cometh  amongst  us  here  in  the  forge  for  brief 
exercise  or  pastime ;  and,  if  he  see  any  of  our  'prentices 
slack,  he  will  still  doff  furred  gown  and  show  them  how 
to  wield  forehammer.  Hath  your  worship  any  com- 
mands for  my  father?  He  is  now  within  and  above 
stairs." 

"Under  your  favor" — the  knight  replied — "I  will  pres- 
ently visit  him." 

So,  flinging  his  bridle  to  Lanyon,  he  dismounted. 

"May  I  know  who  thus  honors  our  poor  house?"  the 
young  armorer  asked,  as  he  went  first  up  the  dark, 
creaking  stair. 

"Thou  shalt  know  anon" — Ralph  replied,  sinking  his 
voice — "though  the  honor  is  not  worth  the  naming.  But 
I  would  fain  see,  if  my  likeness  hath  wholly  passed  from 
thy  father's  memory.  Let  me,  I  pray  thee,  enter  first." 

John  Brakespeare  was  sitting  alone,  poring  over  some 
parchments  by  the  light  of  an  oil  lamp  for  twilight  was 
fast  closing  in.  His  crisp,  short  hair,  and  strong  beard 
were  both  more  white  than  grey;  but  there  was  little 
change  in  the  hale  ruddy  cheeks,  the  moist  merry  eyes, 
and  the  ready  pleasant  smile.  His  frame  had  waxed 
somewhat  heavy  and  corpulent ;  but — draped  in  a  full 
dark  robe — it  was  not  devoid  of  a  certain  portly  dignity. 
He  rose  slowly  to  his  feet,  peering  under  his  hand  into 
the  half-darkness  at  the  further  end  of  the  low-browed 
chamber.  Before  the  burgess  could  speak,  Ralph  strode 
forward  and  stood  within  the  circle  of  the  lamplight. 

"God  save  you,  Master  Brakespeare" — he  said.  "Have 
you  never  a  greeting  for  an  old  friend?" 

Long  and  anxiously  the  other  gazed  in  the  speaker's 
face  before  he  made  answer. 

"I — I  crave  your  worship's  pardon" — he  said,  hesitat- 
ingly; "the  accent  of  your  voice  seemeth  not  altogether 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  345 

strange  to  mine  ears ;  yet  I  mind  not  that  mine  eyes  have 
ever  before  rested  on  your  face." 

Ralph  laughed,  half  sadly,  half  in  mirth  at  the  other's 
evident  bewilderment. 

"Ay,  is  it  so?  Now  I,  for  my  part,  have  been  jostled 
to  and  fro  through  many  lands,  and  have  seen  and 
heard  some  strange  things ;  yet  heard  I  never  of  stranger 
bargain  than  was  struck  in  yon  street  below,  five-and- 
twenty  years  agone,  when  a  warfaring  youth  asked  thee 
for  no  less  a  boon  than  the  loan  of  thy  good  name,  and 
thou  wert  rash  enough  to  trust  him  therewith.  Wilt 
thou  not  pledge  me  now,  in  one  poor  cup  of  wine,  in  re- 
quital for  the  stoup  we  two  drained  together  that  night, 
under  the  sign  of  the  'Spur  ?' " 

The  old  armorer's  eyes  opened  wide  and  bright  in 
amazement,  joyful  recognition,  as  he  held  forth  two 
brown,  brawny  hands,  which  the  next  instant,  were 
gripped  heartily  in  Ralph  Brakespeare's. 

"Wittol  that  I  was !  These  weary  parchments  must 
needs  have  dazed  my  sight.  Surely,  surely,  noble  sir,  I 
remember  all  as  though  it  were  yester-even — the  poor 
gleemaiden's  dance — God  sain  her,  and  others  who  died 
in  the  Great  Plague! — and  the  stark  wrestling  bout 
wherein  the  foreign  ruffler's  curls  gat  a  soiling ;  and  your 
service-taking  under  Sir  John  Hawkwood ;  and  all  our 
pleasant  discourse  together.  We  have  had  word  of  you 
since,  trust  me ;  we  have  had  word  of  you.  We  had  a 
brave  carouse — had  we  not,  son  Dickon? — the  day  when 
the  news  came  hitherward  that  our  noble  prince  had  him- 
self graced  you  with  the  accolade  on  Poitiers  field.  Ay, 
and  after  that,  Harry  Gauntlett  (his  father  lives  hard 
by),  brought  home  from  Bordeaux  such  a  strange  tale  as 
even  I,  who  had  seen  your  sinews  proven,  could  scarce 
believe ;  albeit  he  had  it,  so  he  swore,  from  eye-witnesses : 
how,  in  some  French  castle,  you  held  a  stair-head  with 


346          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

your  single  blade,  slaying  outright  two  famous  swords- 
men, and  keeping  the  Italian  we  wot  of,  and  a  score  more, 
at  bay,  till  help  came,  and  the  devil  gat  his  own.  And 
how,  thereby,  a  noble  family  was  saved  from  murder  and 
worse.  Afterward  we  heard  that  you  had  ridden  beyond 
Alps  with  Sir  John  Hawkwood's  spears ;  and  since  then 
— naught." 

The  same  cloud  that  had  come  over  Brakespeare's  coun- 
tenance when  Odille  de  Champrecourt  spoke  of  his  recent 
past,  crossed  it  again,  though  lighter  in  shade. 

"Thou  hast  heard  enough,  good  friend" — he  answered, 
curtly ;  "and  all  the  best  news.  Of  what  hath  been  done 
in  these  last  years  I  care  not  greatly  to  speak.  Neverthe- 
less, at  supper  to-night,  if  it  pleases  thee  to  play  the  host, 
thou  shalt  listen  till  thou  are  aweary.  If,  when  thou  hast 
heard  all,  thou  judgest  that  I  have  brought  thy  name  to 
no  discredit — it  is  well." 

The  armorer  had  fallen  back  a  pace  or  two ;  and  there 
was  something  of  deference,  if  not  of  constraint,  in  his 
manner,  as  if  he  half  repented  the  freedom  of  his  first 
greeting. 

"I  looked  for  no  less  an  honor" — he  said.  "Truly  it 
grieves  me  that  I  may  not  crave  your  worship  to  tarry 
wholly  under  my  roof;  but,  since  Dickon  here  is  wived, 
we  have  never  a  guest-chamber.  I  wot  you  travel  not 
alone ;  and  I  trust  your  body-squire,  at  least,  will  taste 
of  our  cheer  to-night.  My  son  will  take  good  heed  he 
lacks  nothing." 

"Thou  art  scarce  like  to  remember  him  who  holds  my 
bridle  below" — Brakespeare  replied.  "These  dozen  years 
past  he  carries  my  pennon." 

But  John  Brakespeare,  it  seemed,  had  not  forgotten  the 
Kentishman.  Bustling  down  to  the  doorway,  more  nim- 
bly than  might  have  been  looked  for  from  his  weight 
and  years,  he  bestowed  on  the  esquire,  a  welcome  more 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  347 

familiar,  if  not  heartier,  than  that  with  which  he  had 
received  the  knight. 

Long  and  pleasant  talk  ensued  that  evening  both  above 
and  below  stair;  but,  as  it  turned  all  on  matters  which 
have  already  been  set  forth  in  this  chronicle,  it  need  not 
be  recorded.  There  was  no  stint  of  good  wine  either. 
Though  Sir  Ralph  Brakespeare  rarely,  if  ever,  broke  the 
temperate  habits  of  his  early  youth,  his  follower  was  less 
abstemious ;  when,  on  the  stroke  of  midnight,  the  squire 
followed  his  master  towards  their  hostel,  the  solemnity 
of  his  gait,  and  an  increased  stolidity  of  manner,  showed 
that  strong  liquor  had  wrought  its  uttermost  on  his  sea- 
soned brain.  It  was  after  some  trouble  and  loud  knock- 
ing that  they  gained  admittance ;  for  the  "Spur,"  as  of 
old,  was  an  inn  of  fair  repute,  and  harbored  few  lodgers 
but  such  as  kept  decent  hours.  Whilst  they  waited  under 
the  dark  porch,  Ralph  had  leisure  to  recall  how  he  had 
last  lingered  there ;  and  the  current  of  his  thoughts  may 
be  guessed  from  the  words  that  broke  from  him  half 
aloud. 

"Dead — in  the  Pest-year,  too.  'Twas  too  dainty  a  mor- 
sel for  the  plague  pit." 

Once  before  dawn  he  started  from  sleep,  fancying  that 
a  low  voice  whispered  in  his  ear — "So  may  all  the  saints 
have  you  in  their  keeping."  And  not  without  a  twinge 
of  reproach,  he  remembered  that  through  all  these  years, 
save  when  Marguerite  de  Hacquemont's  kiss  was  laid  on 
his  brow,  no  lips  had  touched  him  so  pure  as  the  poor 
gleemaiden's. 

Early  on  the  morrow  the  knight  and  his  squire  were 
in  saddle,  and  Ralph  had  pledged  his  host  in  a  stirrup- 
cup — a  stranger,  though ;  for  he  who  ruled  some  time  at 
the  "Spur,"  slept,  this  many  a  day,  in  St.  Olave's  church- 
yard—and made  such  good  speed  along  the  Kentish  high- 


348          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

way,  that  they  laid  that  night  at  Tunbridge.  You  may 
guess  whither  they  were  bound. 

On  the  morning,  when  Ralph  Fitzwarenne  was  cut 
adrift  from  his  home  once  and  for  all,  he  averred  that  his 
father  should  never  again — save  at  his  own  expressed 
desire — look  on  his  face  whether  in  life  or  death.  It  was 
one  of  those  rash  vows  that,  perchance,  are  better  broken 
than  kept ;  but  there  was  no  fear  or  no  hope  that  it  should 
ever  be  broken  now.  Thus  much  the  Free  Companion 
had  learned,  the  night  before,  in  conversation  with  the 
armorer.  True — that  desire  for  his  return  had  never 
been  expressly  spoken ;  yet  from  the  tidings  Lanyon 
brought  back,  Ralph  could  guess  at  the  longing  that  had 
filled  Simon  Dynevor's  desolate  heart,  after  that  the  dis- 
pensation of  God  left  him  wifeless  and  childless.  That 
was  a  sour,  saturnine  face  of  his  father's ;  yet  once,  at 
least,  he  had  seen  it  soften  towards  him ;  and  now,  as  there 
rose  against  the  sky-line  the  wooded  ridge  that  bounded 
the  demesnes  of  Bever,  Brakespeare  was  oppressed,  for 
the  first  time  since  he  crossed  it  last,  with  a  vague  misgiv- 
ing that  it  had  been  better  if  he  had  not  come  back  so 
late. 

A  Dynevor  was  still  Lord  of  Bever;  for  it  chanced 
that  one  of  that  house — not  near  of  kin  to  the  last  pos- 
sessor— had  done  good  service  in  the  French  and  Scots 
wars ;  and  King  Edward,  rather  than  disturb  an  ancient 
name,  waived  the  Crown's  right  to  the  lapsed  fief. 

Those  two  rode  on  moodily  and  silently,  till,  at  a  cer- 
tain point  where  the  road  ran  through  a  wooded  hollow, 
Brakespeare  drew  rein,  glancing  over  his  shoulder  at  his 
esquire. 

"Dost  thou  remember?" 

"Ay,  right  well,  my  Lord" — Lanyon  made  answer. 
"Just  here,  the  good  Abbot  Hildebrand  bestowed  on  me 
the  blessing  that  your  worship  would  have  none  of,  and 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  349 

a  broad  gold  piece  to  boot.  God  rest  his  soul!  say  I. 
That  same  bezant  did  enfranchise  us  both  when  we  stood 
in  sore  need  of  ransom." 

Ralph  bent  his  brow. 

"Sayest  thou  'God  rest  his  soul'  at  venture,  or  hast 
thou  heard  aught  lately  concerning  that  same  priest?" 

"No  later  than  yesternight  at  Tunbridge" — the  esquire 
replied.  "He  died  scarce  a  year  since,  it  seems.  They 
were  speaking  of  his  grand  funeral,  and  of  the  dole 
made  for  him  through  all  the  country  side.  He  was 
hugely  missed — not  alone  for  his  large  charities — but 
because  of  late  he  ever  withstood  the  King  and  his  coun- 
cilors with  great  boldness  when  it  was  question  of  grind- 
ing down  the  Commons." 

Ralph  turned  his  horse's  head  away  with  an  impatient 
thrust  of  the  spur.  The  lapse  of  five-and-twenty  years,  and 
the  memory  that  he  owed  his  life  to  the  dead  man's  inter- 
cession had  not  taught  him  so  far  as  to  forget  the  wrong 
wrought  whilst  he  was  yet  unborn,  as  to  say  "Amen"  to 
the  benison  on  Abbot  Hildebrand's  soul.  But  within  a 
furlong,  the  knight  checked  his  hackney  to  a  foots-pace 
again,  as  if  he  were  loath  to  hurry  past  the  old  familiar 
places.  Yon  oak  to  the  left  still  towered  above  the  wood- 
land, tall  and  bare,  as  when  he  brought  down  with  the 
cross-bow  he  could  scarce  lift  to  his  shoulder,  the  raven 
perched  on  the  topmost  withered  limb.  On  that  knoll  on 
the  verge  of  the  forest-ground  he  first  blooded  Fay,  the 
sleuth-brache,  at  deer — how  proud  he  was  of  her,  when 
he  saw  her  stoop  her  black  muzzle  to  the  tainted  soil,  and 
never  lift  it  from  the  trail  till  she  sprang  at  the  throat 
of  the  great  hart — not  so  sorely  wounded,  but  that  he 
could  stand  bravely  at  bay.  In  that  meadow  he  rode  his 
first  gallop  alone  on  Philip  Kemeys'  charger;  and  he  re- 
membered how,  on  that  tilt-ground,  nearer  yet  to  the 
castle  wall,  he  had  felt  his  veins  tingling,  when  a  saddle 


350          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

was  first  emptied  by  his  lance.  He  had  sent  away  steeds 
enow  riderless  since  then,  God  wot,  and  perchance  might 
do  the  same  for  many  more ;  but  that  hot,  proud  flush  he 
never  would  feel  again. 

The  sun  was  setting  as  they  rode  into  the  little  hamlet 
of  Bever,  and  drew  up  before  the  modest  roadside  hostel, 
that  seldom,  if  ever,  had  housed  guests  above  yeoman's 
degree ;  but  the  Free  Companion  was  not  apt  to  quarrel 
with  his  lodging  or  his  fare,  and  refreshed  himself  quite 
contentedly  with  what  they  were  pleased  to  set  before 
him.  Nor  was  the  esquire  a  whit  more  dainty.  When 
supper  was  ended,  Ralph  inquired  after  one  Gillian,  some- 
time wife  of  one  of  Sir  Simon  Dynevor's  foresters. 

"Her  goodman  is  long  dead" — the  ale-wife  answered 
— "and  Dame  Gillian  is  well-nigh  doting;  but  she  dwells 
in  her  old  cottage,  and  is  as  well  cared  for  as  if  she  were 
franklin's  widow,  forsooth!  Her  foster-child — Ralph 
Fitzwarenne,  we  used  to  call  him — hath  won  an  earldom, 
they  say,  beyond  the  seas,  and  sent  her  long  ago  more 
gold  crowns  that  she  will  live  to  spend." 

So  Ralph  strode  away  alone  through  the  twilight,  leav- 
ing Lanyon  to  dispose  of  his  time  as  seemed  to  him  good. 

Bright  gleams  of  firelight  shot  through  the  window 
of  Dame  Gillian's  cottage,  though  the  evening  was  warm  ; 
and  there  was  the  sound  of  a  fresh  young  voice,  chant- 
ing one  of  the  low  monotonous  ballads  with  which  nurses 
are  wont  to  soothe  children  to  sleep.  When  the  knight 
knocked  softly,  the  chanting  ceased.  In  a  second  or  two 
the  latch  was  lifted  from  within ;  the  door  half  opened 
cautiously,  and  a  voice,  half  mirthful,  half  pettish,  spoke 
from  behind  it. 

"How  now!  Robin.  What  fooling  is  this?  Thou  art 
a  full  hour  too  soon.  Thou  may'st  not  enter,  nor  may  I 
stir  forth,  for  the  grand-dame  hath  scarce  begun  to  doze." 

"It  is  not  Robin" — Brakespeare  answered,  smiling  de- 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.          351 

spite  his  heaviness  of  mood ;  "neither  is  my  visit  to  thee, 
fair  maiden ;  but  rather  to  the  reverend  person  who,  it 
seems,  sleeps  not  yet." 

The  girl  started  back  with  a  suppressed  cry,  and  nearly 
thrust  to  the  door.  But,  somehow,  the  deep,  stern  voice 
reassured  rather  than  alarmed  her ;  so  she  peered  forth 
again,  this  time  revealing  a  pretty  blonde  head,  and  a 
merry,  mischievous  face,  lit  up  by  arch  blue  eyes. 

"Save  you,  gentle  stranger" — she  said — "for  I  guess 
you  gentle,  unknown,  even  as  you  guessed  me  fair,  un- 
seen. What  is  your  errand  to  my  grand-dame?  I  fear 
me  you  will  scarce  get  speech  with  her  to-night.  She 
wanders  much  of  late,  even  in  talk  with  her  gossips  and 
me,  and  is  specially  cross-grained  at  her  wakings." 

"Nevertheless,  under  your  leave,  I  will  make  essay," 
— the  knight  replied,  as  he  bowed  his  head  and  doffed 
his  barret-cap  on  entering,  for  the  doorway  was  not  built 
for  visitors  of  his  stature.  The  girl  gave  a  shy  upward 
glance  as  she  made  way  for  him  to  pass,  a  certain  awe 
tempering  her  admiration  of  the  stranger's  tall  martial 
figure  and  stately  bearing. 

"Suffer  me  to  arouse  her" — she  whispered — "  'twill  be 
best  so."  But  the  caution  was  needless ;  for,  just  then, 
the  figure  in  the  armed-chair  by  the  hearth  stirred,  and 
a  cracked,  piping  voice  cried  querulously — 

"How  now,  Janet!  What  new  freak  is  this,  thou  ar- 
rant gill-flirt?  When  thou  art  not  gadding  abroad,  thou 
art  ever  contriving  mischief  at  home.  Can  I  not  close 
mine  eyes,  but  thou  must  be  chattering  with  one  of  thy 
losel  sweethearts?  Thy  father  shall  take  order  with  thee 
when  he  cometh  home." 

"Hush,  hush,  grannam !"  the  girl  said,  hastily.  "Shame 
not  thyself,  and  me,  with  such  words ;  'tis  no  sweetheart 
of  mine,  but  a  gallant  gentleman  come  to  visit  thee.  Stay : 
I  will  get  more  light." 


352          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

And  as  she  stooped  over  the  blaze,  candle  in  hand,  the 
rose  on  her  cheek  flushed  to  peony.  The  old  woman 
stirred  in  her  chair  more  uneasily  than  before  with  the 
quick  suspicious  terror  of  dotage. 

"What  have  I  to  do  with  gentlefolk?"  she  grumbled. 
"Janet — Janet,  I  say — come  nearer  to  me.  This  visit 
bodes  us  no  good.  Let  him  tell  his  errand  quickly  or  be- 
gone." 

The  girl  set  the  candle  on  the  mantelspike ;  and  glanced 
up  once  again  at  Brakespeare  rather,  it  seemed,  in  apol- 
ogy than  in  inquiry. 

"Nay,  dame" — the  knight  answered  very  gently  ; — "I 
mean  no  harm,  God  wot,  to  thee  or  thine.  I  thought 
'twould  please  thee  to  hear  tidings  of  one  thou  hast  not 
seen  these  many,  many  years ;  I  mean  Ralph  Fitzwar- 
enne. 

The  crone  began  to  mumble  under  her  breath ;  at  last 
she  muttered  aloud : 

"Warenne?  Ay,  ay,  I  mind  the  name,  for  sure — a 
brave  house.  I  served  them  as  long  as  any  were  left  to 
serve ;  but  old  Sir  Hugh — he  who  was  slain,  along  with 
my  goodman,  up  away  in  the  north — was  the  last  of  the 
race;  for  his  shrewish  sister  counts  for  naught.  My 
poor  lady  Maude — ay,  ay,  I  remember — she  had  died  ere 
that  in  child-bed.  And  Ralph  Fitzwarenne — he  was  her 
son — for  sure  I  remember  him  well  enough,  and  with 
good  cause;  'twas  ever  a  stubborn  child,  and  waxed 
harder  to  rule  as  he  grew  older.  He  would  scarce  come 
to  good,  I  fear  me.  He  died  long  ago  beyond  the  seas." 

"Be  not  wroth,  noble  sir" — the  girl  broke  in,  timidly, 
for  Ralph's  brow  was  bent  like  one  in  anger  or  pain. 
"She  wanders  sadly,  as  I  told  you ;  specially  when  speak- 
ing of  old  times." 

"Nay" — he  answered — "I  am  not  like  to  be  wroth.  She 
nursed  me ;  and  I  have  rested  my  head  on  her  knee,  many 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.          353 

and  many  a  time,  when  there  was  no  other  to  whom  I 
might  make  moan.  Mother  Gillian,  hast  thou  not  a  kiss 
to  spare  for  thy  foster  son — not  one  kind  word  for  Ralph 
Fitzwarenne  ?" 

He  knelt  by  the  armed-chair  as  he  spoke,  and  his  deep 
strong  voice  shook  like  a  woman's,  whilst  he  gazed  up 
pleadingly  into  the  withered  old  face  that,  for  a  while, 
gave  no  answering  sign.  At  last  the  dim  eyes  lighted  up 
with  a  startled  gleam,  as,  leaning  forward,  the  beldame 
thrust  the  speaker  back  with  all  the  strength  of  her  lean, 
shaking  hand. 

"Thou  ! — thou  Ralph  Fitzwarenne  ?"  she  cried.  "Nay, 
nay,  the  dead  come  not  back  in  such  gallant  guise.  He 
died — died  long  ago." 

"How  knowest  thou  that?" — Ralph  asked,  drooping  his 
head  despondingly.  This  was  the  single  hearth  in  Eng- 
land where  he  had  hoped  to  meet  with  real  welcome. 
Such  a  welcome  as  it  was ! 

"I  heard  it  for  sure" — she  said,  shivering  and  chatter- 
ing her  teeth ;  "or  I  dreamed  it.  Ay,  ay,  I  dreamed  it 
thrice ;  and  morning  dreams  come  ever  true." 

He  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  long,  weary  sigh ;  and  turned 
toward  Janet,  who  stood  gazing  on  him  with  wide  blue 
eyes  and  red  lips  parted — much  as  a  Provengale  peasant- 
wench  might  have  gazed  on  Roland  the  Paladin. 

"Canst  thou  not  persuade  her?" 

The  girl  roused  herself  with  a  start ;  and,  leaning  over 
her  grandame,  began  to  soothe  and  scold  her  alternate- 
ly, like  a  fractious  child. 

"Art  not  ashamed" — she  said  at  last,  "thus  to  entreat 
the  noble  gentleman  on  whose  bounty  thou  hast  lived  so 
long?" 

The  crone  raised  herself  up ;  and  once  more  her  eyes 
gleamed,  but  this  time  with  the  light  of  avarice. 

"Ay,  ay,  'twas  a  brave  largesse,  and  a  timely" — she 


354          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

muttered,  "but  'tis  well-nigh  spent.  Had  yon  tall  stran- 
ger been  Master  Ralph,  or  had  he  brought  sure  tidings 
concerning  him,  he  would  scarce  have  come  empty- 
handed." 

The  girl's  cheek  flushed  brighter  than  ever  with  hon- 
est shame ;  and  she  wrung  her  hands — very  small  and 
white  they  were  for  a  forester's  daughter — despairingly. 

"Nay,  vex  not  thyself,  my  child" — the  knight  said  soft- 
ly— "'tis  not  her  fault,  poor  soul.  I  had  liever  have  found 
thy  grandame  in  her  grave  than  thus  sorely  changed.  So 
kindly  and  cheery  she  used  to  be — but  God's  will  be  done. 
Here,  dame,  I  will  cumber  thee  with  my  presence  no 
longer.  If  thou  wilt  not  believe  in  the  presence  of  Ralph 
Fitzwarenne  in  flesh  and  blood,  mayhap  thou  wilt  be- 
lieve his  is  not  fairy  gold." 

He  laid  a  heavy  purse  in  her  lap,  sickening  at  heart. 
In  very  truth  the  crone  was  a  spectacle  at  once  ghastly 
and  grotesque,  as  she  fumbled  at  the  purse-strings  with 
shaking  fingers,  and  then  dabbled  them  in  the  coin — 
mumbling  the  while,  and  wagging  her  withered  jaws,  as 
a  toothless  wolf  might  do  over  a  dainty  morsel.  The  girl 
followed  Brakespeare  as  he  crossed  the  threshold. 

"You  will  not  deem  us  all  ungrateful,  noble  sir?  I 
would  my  father  were  at  home  to  thank  you  better  than 
I ;  but  he  is  away  to  the  town  after  certain  matters  per- 
taining to  his  forestcraft.  He  will  pay  his  duty  to  your 
worship  betimes  in  the  morning,  and" — she  glanced  up 
again  with  that  half-coquettish  shyness — "you  will  not 
think  me  so  light  of  conduct  as  her  chiding  would  import. 
I  am  betrothed  to  Robin  since  Martinmas,  and  he  is  to  my 
father  as  a  son  already." 

The  knight  bent  his  lofty  head  till  his  lips  touched  the 
smooth,  upturned  brow.  Robert  Staveley,  jealous  and 
choleric  as  he  was,  need  never  have  begrudged  his  sweet- 
heart this  salute;  yet  it  dwelt  long  in  Janet's  memory. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  355 

Its  grave,  kindly  courtesy — so  different  from  anything 
to  which  she  had  been  accustomed — made  her  shrink  a 
little,  that  evening,  from  the  boisterous  caresses  which 
had  hitherto  satisfied  her  entirely. 

"I  had  guessed  as  much" — he  said.  "What  is  left  in 
yon  purse  after  they  have  buried  thy  grandame  shall  go 
towards  thy  dowry.  Fare  thee  well,  pretty  child.  Thou 
canst  have  so  few  sins  of  thine  own  to  answer,  that  thou 
may'st  sometimes  spare  an  orison  for  poor  Ralph  Brake- 
speare's." 

The  girl  stood  watching  the  stately  figure  till  it  was 
wholly  lost  in  shadow ;  and  then  sighing  a  little — she  wist 
not  why — turned  back  into  the  cottage  to  find  her  gran- 
dame  still  mumbling  and  chuckling  over  the  gold. 

The  knight  returned  not  straight  to  his  hostel ;  but 
walked  a  furlong  or  two  further  on,  to  a  spot  of  rising 
ground,  bare  of  trees,  whence  there  was  fair  view  of  the 
castle.  By  this  time  the  moon  had  risen ;  bringing  out  in 
sharp  relief  turret  and  battlement  and  bartizan.  Lights 
were  shining  through  many  of  the  narrow  window-slits ; 
and  sound  of  voices — sometimes  burst  of  laughter — came 
across  the  castle-ditch  through  the  still,  warm  night.  And 
the  moon  rose  higher  and  higher ;  and  the  stars  came  out, 
one  by  one,  till  their  tale  was  full ;  and  still  Ralph  stood 
with  lips  tightly  compressed,  and  crossed  hands,  resting 
on  his  sword-hilt.  When  at  length  he  had  gazed  his  fill, 
he  turned  sharply  on  his  heel ;  and,  looking  neither  to  the 
right  nor  to  the  left,  nor  glancing  once  over  his  shoulder, 
retraced  his  steps  towards  the  inn,  where  he  found  Lan- 
yon  awaiting  in  their  common  chamber.  Had  the  esquire 
been  talkative  and  inquisitive,  instead  of  marvelously 
stolid  and  taciturn,  something  in  the  knight's  face  would 
have  forbidden  question.  So,  with  scarcely  a  word  ex- 
changed, those  two  lay  down  on  their  pallets,  and  took 
their  rest — or  unrest — till  the  dawning. 


356          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

Rumors  of  the  visitors'  names  and  quality  had  oozed 
out  somehow  through  Bever  hamlet ;  and  when  Ralph 
came  forth  to  mount  the  hackney  which  the  esquire  held 
ready,  he  found;  besides  Dame  Gillian's  son,  a  small  knot 
of  idlers  at  the  hostel  door.  After  brief  converse  with 
the  ranger,  the  knight  put  foot  in  stirrup.  Even  as  he 
did  so,  he  looked  rather  wistfully  around  the  circle  to 
see  if  no  old  acquaintance  had  found  his  way  thither. 
Amongst  the  bystanders  there  were  several  old  enough 
to  have  remembered  Ralph  Fitzwarenne;  but  not  a  sin- 
gle face  expressed  aught  beyond  indifferent  curiosity, 
and  one  or  two  loured  with  a  vague  disappointment. 
Reports  of  fabulous  wealth,  and  reckless  liberality,  had 
spread  through  the  village ;  and  some  who  stood  there 
had  half  expected  that  gold  pieces  would  be  scattered 
broadcast  to  be  gathered  by  whoso  chose  to  stoop  for 
them. 

And  so  Ralph  Brakespeare  turned  his  back  for  the  very 
last  time  on  the  place  of  his  nurture ;  and  only  one  voice 
— his  foster-brother's — wished  him  "God  speed." 

They  had  ridden  a  league  or  more  before  the  knight 
broke  silence. 

"And  how  didst  thou  disport  thyself  betwixt  supper  and 
bed-time,  Will?  An  thou  had'st  not  better  luck  than  I, 
we  might  have  spared  our  journey  hitherwards." 

"I  scarce  know  what  your  worship  calls  good  luck" — 
the  other  answered,  even  more  gruffly  than  his  wont. 
"Sometimes  'tis  better  luck  to  miss  folk  than  to  find  them. 
Our  old  mill  clacks  merrily  as  ever ;  but  strangers  gather 
the  grist  thereof.  My  father  drained  his  last  posset  ten 
years  agone.  He  drank  deeper,  they  say,  after  the  Black 
Pest  carried  off  my  step-dame — whether  for  joy  or  sor- 
row, God  knoweth ;  and  the  rest  of  my  kindred  have  wan- 
dered away,  none  can  tell  me  whither.  So  I  bethought 
me  I  would  go  up  to  the  forge,  and  drink  a  cup  of  honest 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.          357 

John  Burnley's  ale,  and  ask  after  the  health  of  Cicely, 
his  wife — mine  ancient  sweetheart.  She  was  gracious 
enough,  and  he  seemed  ever  glad  of  my  company,  when 
I  was  here  last  on  your  worship's  errand." 

"Did'st  thou  see  them?"  the  knight  inquired,  marking 
that  the  other  paused  as  if  there  were  no  more  to  tell. 

"I  heard  them" — Lanyon  answered,  with  a  grim  laugh 
— "and  that  sufficed  me.  By  Saint  Giles !  my  step-dame's 
tongue  never  jangled  faster  or  shriller  than  did  Cicely's 
yester-even.  Yea — once  there  came  so  shrewd  a  clatter, 
that  I  guess  she  proved  whether  John  Burnley's  costard 
or  her  distaff  were  the  toughest.  I  care  not  to  thrust 
myself  where  dry  blows  and  hard  words  are  agoing;  so 
I  even  withdrew  myself  warily  to  whence  I  came ;  and 
called  for  a  pottle  at  mine  own  cost  for  the  good  of  our 
inn.  'Twas  poor  muddy  liquor,  but  the  ale-wife  suffered 
me  to  drink  it  in  peace." 

The  knight  looked  hard  at  his  follower,  doubting — 
and  not  for  the  first  time  either — whether,  under  that 
heavy,  stolid  exterior,  there  lay  not  a  better  philosophy 
than  any  he  himself  could  boast  of. 

"Good  sooth,  I  envy  thee,"  he  said — not  in  irony  or 
bitterness.  "Here  have  I  been  disquieting  myself  because 
Gillian,  my  foster-mother,  knew  me  not  again,  having 
fallen  into  dotage ;  and  I  waxed  wroth  with  the  poor  folk 
yonder  for  that  their  welcome  was  naught.  What  are  we 
that  man,  or  woman  either,  who  have  their  own  daily 
task  to  do,  and  their  own  kith  and  kin  to  care  for,  should 
carry  us  in  their  memories  for  half  a  lifetime.  What 
babble  they  that  the  love  of  our  native  country  never  dies  ? 
Ba-sta!  Minstrels'  fables  all.  A  man's  true  country  is 
wheresoever  a  man's  lot  is  cast,  and  where  such  as  care 
for  him  dwell — be  they  never  so  few.  An  I  hunger  to 
cross  the  seas  again,  write  me  down  driveler." 

"Our  welcome    at    Hacquemont  was  not  cold" — the 


358          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

squire  said  simply.  "I  wot,  there  is  watching  and  wait- 
ing for  us,  even  now ;  and  I  would  we  were  within  hail 
of  my  gruff  gossip,  Gilles." 

Brakespeare  smiled,  as  if  his  thoughts  had  been  turned 
to  a  pleasanter  current.  Then  they  rode  onwards  cheer- 
ily enough,  and  the  next  afternoon  found  them  once  more 
housed  at  the  "Spur." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

CROSSING  THE  CHANNEL. 

BRIEF  halt  in  London  was  absolutely  needful, 
for  their  cattle  had  traveled  far  and  fast  of 
late,  and  neither  the  knight  nor  the  squire — 
even  without  their  harness — was  a  light  load 
for  horseflesh. 

On  the  following  day,  Sir  Ralph  Brakespeare  went 
forth  about  noon  alone.  He  crossed  London  Bridge,  and 
passing  through  the  Chepe,  issued  forth  by  Ludgate  into 
the  open  fields ;  and  held  onward  past  the  Savoy,  through 
the  hamlet  of  Charing,  till  he  came  to  Westminster — a 
town,  even  at  that  period,  of  no  mean  importance ;  for, 
besides  only  mere  courtiers  and  ecclesiastics,  not  a  few 
knights  and  nobles  had  their  lodgings  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  Palace  and  the  Abbey.  Furthermore,  as 
trade  ever  follows  custom,  clothiers,  armorers,  and  gold' 
smiths — to  say  nothing  of  butchers,  bakers,  and  vintners 
— had  built  for  themselves  booths,  dwellings,  and  ware- 
houses all  about ;  so  that  in  Westminster  streets  were  to 
be  found,  more  irregular,  perchance,  in  their  architecture, 
but  scarcely  less  busy  than  some  in  the  heart  of  the  city. 
Brakespeare  was  passing  one  of  these — the  lodging 
evidently  of  some  personage  of  importance — when  his  eye 
was'  attracted  by  the  rare  beauty  of  a  charger  whose  bri- 
dle was  held  by  two  dismounted  squires,  and  by  the  bla- 
zonry on  the  cointise  that  seemed  familiar  to  him.  In 
the  rear  was  mustered  a  troop  of  some  score  retainers, 


3<5o         THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

gallantly  mounted  and  richly  armed.  Almost  immedi- 
ately, he  for  whom  they  waited  came  forth — a  goodly 
knight,  and  of  a  marvelous  presence  still,  albeit  both 
beard  and  hair  were  white  as  hoar-frost;  and  he  moved 
lightly  under  his  gorgeous  plate  armor  with  firm  elastic 
step.  As,  with  a  soothing  word  or  two,  the  old  noble  laid 
his  hand  on  the  withers  of  the  fretting  destrier,  his  glance 
encountered  Brakespeare's.  For  a  second  or  two,  each 
gazed  on  the  other,  in  the  vague  fashion  of  one  who 
racks  his  memory  to  give  the  name  to  a  resemblance. 
Recognition  dawned  on  Ralph  first;  and,  as  he  made  a 
hasty  step  forward,  he  bared  his  head — not  alone  with 
the  reverence  due  to  superior  age,  but  partly  from  the 
force  of  old  habit — for,  the  last  time  those  two  met,  there 
had  been  betwixt  them  the  difference  that  divides  a  leader 
of  armies  from  a  nameless  subaltern. 

"Sir  Walter  Breckenridge,  if  I  mistake  not" — he  said, 
in  his  clear,  bold  voice.  "My  good  lord,  I  scarce  need 
inquire  after  your  health.  You  carry  more  lightly  than 
the  rest  of  us  the  score  of  years  that  have  slipped  by 
since  last  I  looked  upon  your  face.  Belike  you  have  for- 
gotten Sir  John  Hawkwood,  and  Ralph  Brakespeare,  his 
esquire." 

The  old  knight's  countenance  lighted  up  cordially,  as 
he  reached  out  his  gauntleted  hand  across  the  saddle-tree. 

"By  God's  body!  I  have  forgotten  neither" — he  an- 
swered. "No — nor  how  that  same  squire  saved  mine  hon- 
or, and  the  ransom  of  Hacquemont  to  boot,  against  such 
odds  as  seldom  have  been  heard  of,  save  in  jongleur's 
tales.  Though  'twas  mine  evil  hap  to  miss  Poitiers,  I 
heard  how  worthily  you  there  won  golden  spurs ;  and  we 
live  not  so  far  to  the  West  but  that  we  have  heard  how, 
of  late,  beyond  Alps,  the  Free  Lances  have  borne  all  be- 
fore them ;  and  who  hath  led  their  companies.  Only  it 
grieves  me  that  so  much  los  was  not  won  under  the  Red 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.          361 

Cross,  rather  than  under  the  banner  of  Prince  or  Pope. 
Surely  thou  wilt  not  pass  my  lodging,  without  draining 
one  hanap  therein  to  our  ancient  acquaintance.  Though  I 
am  bound  to  visit  our  lord  the  King  at  Windsor,  my  bus- 
iness is  not  so  pressing  but  that,  for  so  fair  a  purpose, 
I  can  spare  a  poor  half  hour." 

So  the  two  went  together  into  the  presence-chamber 
— hung  with  costly  arras,  and  otherwise  richly  decorated, 
after  the  fashion  of  the  time — and  Sir  Ralph  did  his  host 
reason  in  a  mighty  beaker.  The  gallants  of  those  days 
drank  as  they  fought — right  royally — and  carried  off, 
easily  enough,  a  morning-draught  that  would  have  set 
the  steadiest  of  modern  brains  a-working. 

After  brief  interchange  of  question  and  answer,  quoth 
Sir  Walter  Breckenridge : 

"Thou  mindest  what  I  said  anon — how  it  grieved  me 
to  think  so  stark  a  blade  had  been  wielded  so  long  in  the 
service  of  the  alien.  Now,  might  not  this  be  yet  amend- 
ed? A  word  in  thine  ear.'  My  lord  the  King  never  stood 
in  more  need  than  now  of  tried  soldiers.  Not  I  alone, 
but  many  others,  opine  that  since  sore  sickness  forced 
Prince  Edward  to  quit  Aquitaine,  our  foothold  therein 
is  scarce  so  firm  as  heretofore.  I  have  had  much  talk  with 
Sir  Guiscard  d'Angle,  the  Poitevin  envoy,  since  he  hath 
tarried  here — a  wise  and  valiant  captain,  I  warrant  him, 
not  given  to  evil  foreboding — and  he  hath  plainly  averred 
that  matters  out  yonder  need  wary  handling.  Now  the 
Lord  John  of  Pembroke,  who  goeth  forth  thither  as  the 
King's  lieutenant,  though  he  hath  a  right  good  courage 
and  right  good  will,  hath  scarce  the  brain  for  such  a  task ; 
yet — an  he  will  hearken  to  counsel — I  fear  not  but  that 
all  will  go  well  with  us  yet.  Glad  man  were  I,  if  I  could 
persuade  thee  to  cast  in  thy  lot  with  us.  He  sails  pres- 
ently from  Southampton  for  La  Rochelle.  Albeit  thine 
own  following  be  meagre  just  now,  the  Free  Lances  will 


362          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

gather  to  the  sound  of  thy  name  like  hounds  to  the  horn." 

The  other  bit  his  lip,  and  he  answered,  with  some  bit- 
terness— 

"Tis  an  apt  comparison,  par  die!  Surely  they  are  but 
hounds  at  best,  and  ravening  ones  to  boot ;  and  I — though 
you  are  pleased  to  over-rate  my  poor  repute — am  but  a 
huntsman,  unversed  in  the  laws  of  true  venerie.  I  marvel 
that  your  lordship  should  choose  to  seek  sport  in  such 
company !" 

"Nay,  nay" — Breckenridge  broke  in ;  "I  will  not  hear 
thee  so  miscall  thyself.  Blacker  tales  have  been  told  of 
Knolles  than  ever  were  laid  to  thine  account ;  yet  Chandos 
himself,  while  he  lived,  thought  it  not  shame  to  couch 
lance  in  his  company,  and  few  stand  higher  in  the  king's 
favor  than  he.  'Twas  but  lately  John  Menstreworth 
abyed  dearly  the  maligning  him.  Didst  thou  not  see  yon 
grim  head  grinning  down  from  the  Bridge-house  tower? 
Our  liege  is  no  niggard  of  his  bounty  to  such  as  serve 
him  faithfully.  Three  years  agone  he  would  have  paid 
my  poor  deserts  with  the  Barony  of  Welland,  and  a  fair 
fief  to  boot ;  but  I  have  more  than  sufficeth  my  needs,  and 
none  to  inherit  such  honors ;  also,  I  love  the  old  name ; 
so,  with  all  gratitude,  I  said  him  nay.  Come,  wilt  thou 
not  be  ruled  by  me?  Thou  are  not  minded,  I  trust,  to 
take  part  against  us." 

"Nay,  verily" — Ralph  replied.  "I  have  no  such 
thought;  though  'tis  long  since  I  took  King  Edward's 
wages,  were  I  arrayed  against  the  Red  Cross,  I  should 
seem  unto  myself  but  a  renegade.  Nevertheless,  I  am 
under  promise  to  return  to  a  certain  place  in  France — 
marry,  'tis  no  secret,  your  lordship  knows  the  place,  'tis 
no  other  than  Hacquemont — before  binding  myself  by 
any  engagement  whatsoever.  'Tis  a  quiet  nook,  beyond 
the  sound  of  French  or  English  trumpets ;  and  I  see  not 
why  I  should  not  tarry  there  for  awhile,  neither  molest- 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  363 

ing  nor  molested,  taking  part  with  neither  side.  I  have 
earned  some  respite,  I  trow,  for — save  when  I  have  been 
ailing  of  wounds — the  harness  has  scarce  been  off  my 
shoulders  these  twenty  years." 

The  elder  knight  shook  his  head  rather  sorrowfully. 

"Tis  a  pleasant  dream" — he  said — "and  the  saints  for- 
bid I  should  grudge  thee  rest  so  fairly  earned ;  yet,  'tis  a 
dream  scarce  like  to  come  true.  To  sit  with  folded  hands 
in  such  times  as  these  is  not  for  the  like  of  thee  and  me. 
Some  time  back,  the  good  Bishop  of  Rochester  preached 
at  Westminster  on  the  blessings  of  peace  and  so  forth. 
His  discourse  pleased  none  of  us  that  listened,  my  lord 
the  King  least  of  all,  judging  from  his  frown ;  yet  the 
text  hath  rung  in  mine  ears  ever  since — 'All  they  that 
take  the  sword,  shall  perish  with  the  sword.' " 

Ralph  barely  repressed  a  start.  That  same  thought 
had  been  in  his  mind  many  and  many  a  time ;  but  it  had 
never  before  been  put  in  words. 

"Your  words  have  truth  and  reason,  my  lord,"  he  said ; 
"and,  trust  me,  I  will  ponder  thereon  needfully.  I  will 
bring  you  mine  answer  to  Bordeaux,  or  to  such  other 
place  as  you  may  please  to  appoint,  within  one  month 
after  I  set  foot  in  France ;  and  I  purpose  to  set  forth 
thither  straightway.  Will  this  suffice  you  ?" 

"It  must,  perforce,  sith  better  may  not  be" — quoth 
Breckenridge,  rising.  "But  'twill  scarce  delay  thy  jour- 
ney to  take  passage  in  my  ship  from  Southampton,  and 
suffer  me  to  set  you  safe  on  shore.  Since  Duke  Lancas- 
ter's marriage,  and  the  contract  of  the  younger  Infanta 
to  his  brother  of  Cambridge,  the  Spaniard  hath  waxed 
venemous,  and  his  corsairs  are  abroad  in  those  seas,  so 
that  the  passage  is  scarce  safe  for  merchantmen  without 
convoy.  How  sayest  thou?  This  grace,  at  least,  thou 
wilt  scarce  deny  me?" 

Ralph  had  no  choice  but  to  accept  gratefully ;  and  so, 


364          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

with  more  courteous  words  on  either  side,  they  parted, 
having  made  compact  to  meet  at  Southampton  that  day 
se'nnight. 

No  further  incident  marked  the  remainder  of  Brake- 
speare's  stay  in  Southwark.  After  taking  kindly  leave 
of  the  armorer,  and  bestowing  on  his  family  such  gifts 
as  he  could  prevail  on  them  to  accept,  the  knight  once 
more  took  the  road,  and  arrived  safe  at  Southampton  on 
the  even  of  the  day. 

For  a  full  fortnight  beyond  the  time  appointed  for  their 
sailing,  the  transports  lay  idle  off  the  town ;  for  the  cum- 
brous vessels  of  that  time  never  ventured  forth  from  har- 
bor when  the  breezes  were  contrary.  During  that  weary 
waiting,  Ralph  had  ample  leisure  to  pass  in  review  the 
chiefs  of  the  expedition  under  whose  convoy  he  was  to 
sail.  The  more  so,  as,  for  reasons  not  hard  to  under- 
stand, he  would  be  as  yet  presented  to  none  of  these,  but 
tarried  under  the  same  roof  with  Sir  Walter  Brecken- 
ridge,  without  revealing  his  own  name  or  quality.  The 
Free  Companion,  like  most  other  successful  adventurers, 
had  no  mean  skill  in  physiognomy  and  the  judgment  that 
he  formed  of  men  at  first  sight  was  rarely  far  from  truth. 

John  of  Pembroke  was  older,  and  perchance  wiser, 
than  when  he  was  trapped  at  Puyrenon,  and  was  fain  to 
humble  himself  by  crying  on  Chandos  for  succor ;  yet  his 
quick,  impulsive  manner,  and  bright,  unsteady  eyes,  be- 
tokened one  better  fitted  to  lead  a  desperate  assault  or 
headlong  charge,  than  to  rule  the  destinies  of  a  province, 
or  control  the  movements  of  a  mighty  armament.  Neither 
did  the  force,  then  actually  sent  forth,  seem  proportionate 
to  the  objects  it  was  destined  to  achieve.  Sir  Guiscard 
d'Angle  had  assured  King  Edward  that  there  was  no  lack 
of  lances  in  Poitou  and  Guienne  ready  to  be  hired,  and 
that  gold  was  more  needed  there  than  steel.  So  the  trea- 
sure-ship was  laden  with  nobles  and  florins  enow  to  main- 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.          365 

tain  for  a  full  year's  space  three  thousand  fighting  men ; 
but  there  embarked  with  the  Earl,  besides  his  own  house- 
hold, scarce  a  score  of  knights,  each  with  his  immediate 
retainers.  Truly,  amongst  them  were  numbered  names 
of  no  mean  renown :  those  of  Beaufort,  Curzon,  Grim- 
stone,  Morton,  Whitaker,  and  Breckenridge,  were  right 
well  known  on  either  side  of  the  narrow  seas. 

At  length  the  wind  veered  round  to  the  northwest, 
and,  getting  aboard  with  what  speed  they  might,  the 
English  sailed  out  of  -Southampton  with  good  hope  and 
courage,  praying  only  that  the  breeze  might  hold  till  they 
reached  Rochelle ;  for  few,  if  any,  of  them  dreamed  of 
their  landing  being  disputed.  This  confidence  was  some- 
what abated  when,  after  a  prosperous  voyage,  they 
sighted  the  southern  point  of  the  Poitevin  coast,  for  there 
the  look-outs  in  the  mast-turrets  descried  a  dark  line  of 
shipping  anchored  in  the  sheltering  lee  of  the  Isle  of  Re, 
barring  entrance  to  the  harbor.  The  vessel  that  carried 
Breckenridge  and  Brakespeare  sailed  better  than  the  most 
part  of  her  fellows,  and  held  her  place  throughout  in  the 
vaward  division  of  the  squadron ;  so  that  those  were 
among  the  first  to  be  aware  of  the  presence  of  an  enemy. 

Quoth  the  elder  knight  to  the  younger — 

"I  have  done  thee  a  right  good  turn,  it  seems,  in  per- 
suading thee  to  take  passage  with  me.  Lo!  now  thou 
wilt  have  to  take  thy  chance  of  landing  with  the  rest  of 
us — and  thy  full  share  of  hard  blows  also,  belike — wheth- 
er thou  wilt  or  no." 

"Trouble  not  yourself,  my  good  lord" — the  other  made 
answer,  cheerily.  "For  your  kind  intent  I  am  none  the 
less  beholden  to  you.  Nevertheless,  I  am  as  well  pleased 
that  it  is  not  against  France  alone  we  shall  fight  pres- 
ently— if  fight  we  must.  Yon  gaudy  pennon  of  gules 
and  or,  that  I  saw  in  the  last  gleam  of  sunshine,  is  not 
blazoned  with  the  Lilies,  I  trow;  rather  should  it  be 


366          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

borne  by  the  Spaniards  of  whom  ye  spake — albeit  those 
are  no  corsairs,  but  mighty  warships." 

"Those  hawk's  eyne  of  thine  are  keen,  as  ever,"  Breck- 
enridge  replied.  "Never  an  one  of  our  watchmen  hath 
told  us  so  much ;  yet  thou  art  right,  I  doubt  not.  Even 
such  as  thou  sayest  is  the  banner  of  Castile.  Now  I  will 
below  and  arm  me ;  but  how  to  furnish  thee  forth  I  know 
not.  There  is  no  lack  of  harness  aboard;  yet  none,  I 
trow,  like  to  fit  thy  size  and  stature." 

"Fear  not  for  me" — Brakespeare  said.  "My  mails  are 
not  heavy;  nevertheless,  they  hold  that  shall  serve  my 
turn  to-day." 

When  the  Free  Companion  appeared  again,  there  was 
no  outward  change  in  his  attire,  save  that  he  wore  a  plain 
bascinet.  His  squire,  too,  was  accoutred  only  in  a  light 
headpiece  and  a  stout  leathern  gipon. 

"Art  thou  distraught?" — Breckenridge  asked  discon- 
tentedly, as  he  came  on  deck,  armed  in  plate  from  head  to 
heel, — "or  bearest  thou  some  charm,  to  make  quarrels* 
and  javelins  glint  off  from  clothier's  ware  like  hail- 
stones ?" 

By  way  of  answer  the  other  opened  the  breast  of  his 
doublet,  revealing  beneath  a  mail  shirt,  woven  in  steel 
links,  exceeding  fine,  that  glittered  like  silver  broidery — 
one  of  those  masterpieces  of  the  hammerman's  art,  rare, 
even  in  Milan  armories. 

"I  have  proved  it" — he  said,  with  a  smile.  "Ludovico 
Sforza  wore  this  under  his  vest  when  I  met  him  by  the 
way,  and  guessing  him  unarmed,  thought  to  spear  him, 
as  I  would  have  speared  a  march-hog — for  blacker  trai- 
tor and  fouler  murderer  never  drew  breath.  I  smote  him 
full  on  the  breast;  and  the  shock  was  so  rude  that  his 
neck  brake,  and  he  lay  dead  where  he  fell.  I  thought 
'twas  sorcery  that  my  lance  had  not  gone  thorow;  but 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.          367 

when  we  stripped  him,  though  there  was  a  sore  bruise 
above  the  midriff,  the  skin  was  barely  grazed." 

The  old  knight  nodded  his  head  as  if  well  pleased. 
Of  a  truth  the  time  was  short  for  discourse ;  for  the 
Spaniard's  line  was  now  so  close  that  the  great  ramparts 
and  towers  of  their  war-ships,  full  of  spear-men  and  ar- 
balastiers,  were  plainly  discerned.  They  had  weighed 
anchor  when  the  English  first  came  into  sight,  and,  hav- 
ing gotten  to  windward,  were  now  bearing  down  full  sail. 

So  the  battle  began.  That  it  should  have  been  vainly 
contested  against  such  unequal  odds  redounds  not  less  to 
the  honor  of  the  Red  Cross  than  any  victory  achieved 
since  Poitiers.  For,  not  only  was  the  Spaniard  far  supe- 
rior in  numbers,  but  his  vessels,  compared  to  the  English, 
were  as  caravels  to  cockboats ;  and,  furthermore,  besides 
cross-bows  and  cannon,  they  carried  divers  warlike  en- 
gines, flinging  great  bars  of  iron,  huge  stones,  and  leaded 
beams,  the  full  shock  of  which  no  ordinary  hull  might 
withstand.  Nevertheless,  those  who  fought  under  John 
of  Pembroke  bare  themselves  with  such  valor  and  skilful 
seamanship  that — at  the  cost  of  many  sorely  wounded, 
and  not  a  few  slain  outright  by  the  enemy's  artillery — 
they  held  their  own,  even  to  the  going  down  of  the  sun, 
with  actual  loss  of  only  two  provision  barges  with  all 
aboard.  For — saith  Froissart — "They  handled  their 
spears,  which  were  well  steeled,  so  briskly,  and  gave  such 
terrible  strokes,  that  none  dared  to  come  anear,  unless  he 
was  warmed  and  sheltered." 

Slowly,  as  night  fell,  the  two  fleets  drew  apart,  and 
cast  anchor  waiting — the  one  side  with  eager  confidence, 
the  other  with  stubborn  courage — for  what  the  morrow 
should  bring  forth. 

Now,  the  engagement  took  place  not  so  far  from  the 
shore  but  that  it  could  be  plainly  discerned  from  the  ram- 
parts of  Rochelle.  Sir  John  Harpenden — a  valiant  and 


368          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

trusty  captain,  who  then  was  Seneschal  of  the  town — 
spared  neither  threats  nor  entreaties  to  induce  the  citi- 
zens to  embark  in  the  vessels  and  barges  lying  in  the  port, 
to  the  aid  of  their  fellows,  who  were  manifestly  overborne. 
But  the  Rochellois,  with  French  sympathies  at  their 
hearts,  in  no  wise  listened,  excusing  themselves  with 
some  show  of  reason,  alleging  that  they  had  their  own 
gates  to  guard,  and  that,  lacking  practise  on  the  sea,  they 
were  ill-fitted  to  cope  thereon  with  the  Spaniard ;  but  that 
they  were  ready  with  their  service  should  battle  ensue 
on  shore.  When  the  Seneschal  saw  that  he  wasted  breath, 
and  was  not  like  to  prevail,  he  bethought  himself  how 
best  he  could  act  for  the  clearing  of  his  own  honor.  So, 
on  the  turn  of  the  tide  John  Harpenden,  and  three  other 
Poitevin  knights — who  were  also  minded  at  all  risks  to 
keep  faith  with  their  suzerain — embarked  in  four  open 
barges ;  and  carried  to  Pembroke  and  Guiscard  d' Angle 
the  heavy  message  that  they  must  trust  no  longer  to  aid 
or  countenance  from  La  Rochelle  but  only  to  the  strength 
of  their  own  arms  and  to  the  mercy  of  God. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

THE  BATTLE  ON   SAINT  JOHN   BAPTIST'S   EVE. 


w 


HEN  the  sun  had  fairly  risen  on  the  morning  be- 
fore St.  John  Baptist's  Day,  and  the  tide  was 
at  the  full,  the  Spaniards  weighed  anchor  to 
the  sound  of  trumpet  and  drum ;  and,  having 
once  more  taken  the  wind  of  the  English,  bore  down  in 
full  battle  array,  intending  fairly  to  surround  the  smaller 
squadron.  Forty  great  ships  of  war,  and  thirteen  gal- 
leys made  up  their  line.  Amongst  their  captains — besides 
Ambrosio  de  Boccanera,  their  Admiral — were  Hernando 
de  Leon,  Roderigo  de  Rosas,  and  many  other  Castilian 
worthies. 

Then  the  combat  was  renewed  with  bitterer  ferocity 
than  before ;  for  the  Spaniards  recognized,  not  without 
shame,  how  few  and  ill-provided  were  those  who  had 
held  them  so  long  at  bay;  and  the  English  fought  like 
born  bull-dogs  as  they  were,  knowing  that  hope  of  retreat 
or  succor  there  was  none,  and  bent  on  biting  to  the  last. 
Neither  did  Guiscard  d'Angle  and  his  Poitevins  bear 
themselves  a  whit  less  gallantly.  Whatever  his  defects 
as  a  general,  none  questioned  that  John  of  Pembroke 
bore  himself  that  day  as  a  valiant  knight ;  or  that  he  was 
ably  seconded  by  each  and  every  one  who  sailed  from 
Southampton  in  his  company.  Yet  the  end  could  not  be 
doubtful.  Besides  the  fearful  artillery  and  terrible  en- 
gines before  mentioned,  another  devilish  contrivance  was, 
for  the  first  time  in  civilized  warfare,  brought  into  play ; 


370          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

and  the  weaker  side  had  not  only  to  elude  the  shock  of 
huge  prows  beetling  over  their  own  decks,  and  the  crash 
of  lead  and  iron,  but  also  the  contact  of  fire-ships.  Mor- 
tal thews  and  sinews,  however  tough,  must  wear  out  at 
last ;  and  the  handiwork  of  shipwrights,  ever  so  cunning, 
cannot  hold  out  .forever.  So  'tis  no  marvel  if,  as  the  day 
worn  on,  the  cry  of  "St.  George  Guienne"  waxed  fainter, 
and  the  luck  of  Castile  began  to  prevail. 

In  such  a  condition  as  this,  Brakespeare  and  Brecken- 
ridge  found  themselves  about  an  hour  before  noon. 

Awhile  agone,  with  great  toil  and  danger,  they  had 
shaken  off  one  of  those  fire-ships ;  yet  their  sails  had  been 
all  ablaze,  and  hung  now  in  blackened  rags  from  the 
yards,  so  that  the  craft  could  no  longer  be  handled  and 
weltered  like  a  log  in  the  water.  Nevertheless,  before 
they  were  quite  disabled,  they  had  hurtled  through  the 
enemy's  line ;  and  now  lay  on  the  outer  verge  of  the  fight, 
nearest  to  the  shore.  There  was  a  brief  lull  in  the  storm 
that  had  been  harassing  them  ever  since  daybreak,  a  very 
brief  one  though,  for,  not  three  cages'  length  off,  a  huge 
Spanish  galley  was  working  round,  like  an  armed  man 
taking  space  to  run  a  course  ;  and  all  knew  she  only  waited 
to  get  to  windward  to  bear  down  and  finish  the  work 
already  half  done. 

With  a  long  breath  like  a  gasp,  Sir  Walter  Brecken- 
ridge  lifted  his  vizor  and  looked  on  his  companion  whose 
face  was  already  bare.  On  either  visage  there  was  a  cer- 
tain seriousness,  but  that  of  the  elder  knight  was  the 
gloomier  of  the  twain. 

"These  accursed  Spaniards  wear  not  pointless  stings." 
He  glanced  rather  ruefully  round  the  deck,  slippery  with 
blood  and  cumbered  with  wounded — the  corpses  had 
been  cast  overboard  without  ruth  or  scruple.  "Eftsoons 
must  we  make  choice,  betwixt  surrendering  to  ransom 
or  drowning  where  we  stand ;  for  our  seams  are  strained 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  371 

even  to  bursting,  and  they  tell  me  of  a  shrewd  leak  in 
the  hold.  Tis  the  part  of  a  wise  man,  surely,  to  choose 
prison  for  a  brief  while,  rather  than  the  deep  sea  for 
ever  and  aye ;  but  as  we  wax  old  we  wax  stubborn ;  and 
for  myself  I  doubt.  What  thinkest  thou?  Thou  hast 
good  right  to  speak ;  never  an  one  of  King  Edward's 
lieges  hath  wrought  for  him  more  doughtily  than  thou 
hast  done  since  yesternoon." 

"It  is  my  trade" — the  other  answered  coolly.  "A  day's 
work  more  or  less  matters  little  in  the  year's  tale.  The 
pleasant  passage  at  your  lordship's  cost,  is,  so  far,  scarce 
overpaid.  But  my  lips  are  parched  with  drought,  and  I 
fain  would  slake  them,  I  own.  I  warrant,  Lanyon  here, 
if  ye  will  grant  him  leave,  would  ferret  out  a  flask  of  the 
rare  liquor  we  drank  last  night  at  supper.  There  is  time 
enow  for  a  parting  cup  yet,  whilst  yon  lumbering  caravel 
hangs  in  the  wind." 

He  spoke  quite  simply  and  naturally,  not  in  reckless 
bravado,  or  in  the  ghastly  merriment  of  despair;  but 
rather  like  a  man  who  hath  stood  too  often  on  the  very 
brink  of  the  Dark  River  to  blench  when  he  needs  must 
set  foot  therein.  The  heart  of  the  old  soldier  warmed 
with  genuine  admiration,  and  he  smiled  outright  as  he 
signed  to  Lanyon  to  obey.  In  a  few  seconds  the  squire 
returned,  bearing  a  goodly  flagon  and  a  silver  tankard, 
which  last  he  filled  to  the  brim  with  a  practised  hand. 
Brakespeare  drained  it  to  the  last  drop ;  and  Brecken- 
ridge,  when  it  was  filled  again,  did  him  reason  in  like 
manner.  They  pledged  each  other — these  two — with  as 
hearty  good-will,  as  if  they  had  quenched  their  thirst 
after  a  tournay  to  the  sound  of  flutes  and  clarions ;  yet 
they  had  no  better  music  then,  than  the  groans  of  the 
wounded  round  their  feet,  and  the  gurgle — each  minute 
more  and  more  ominiously  loud — of  the  water  pouring 
through  the  rift  in  the  hold- 


372          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

Said  the  Free  Companion: — 

"My  lord  Sir  Walter,  ye  well  can  guard  your  own 
honor  without  counsel  of  mine ;  and  well  I  wot  that  when 
ye  speak  the  word  'surrender,'  ye  will  have  done  all  that 
beseems  a  Christian  knight — and  more.  But  for  myself, 
I  am  not  minded  to  see  the  withinside  of  a  Spanish  prison. 
Moreover,  I  have  a  tryst  to  keep  within  brief  space,  the 
which,  if  I  live,  I  will  not  fail.  That  I  will  stand  by  you 
to  the  last,  it  needs  not  to  aver ;  but,  when  there  is  naught 
left  here  for  me  to  do,  I  purpose  to  shift  for  myself  by 
swimming.  My  squire  here  is  a  born  water-dog ;  we  have 
swum  for  our  sport,  ere  this,  a  longer  space  than  lies  be- 
twixt us  and  the  shore ;  the  tide,  too,  is  at  the  slack,  and 
there  is  floating  wreck  enow  about,  whereon  to  rest  if  our 
arms  shall  tire." 

The  old  knight  smiled  again,  this  time  very  sadly. 

"  'Tis  a  brave  design" — he  said — "and,  if  it  be  within 
compass  of  man's  strength  or  hardihood,  I  doubt  not  thou 
wilt  achieve  it.  Thou  must  carry  thine  answer  concerning 
the  matters  we  spake  of  to  Bordeaux  to  other  than  me ; 
for  I  know  of  a  surety  that  this  day  Walter  Breckenridge 
dealeth  his  last  swordstroke.  Still  I  trust  that  thy  mind 
will  be  swayed  aright  and  that  thou  mayest  yet  do  King 
Edward  wight  service.  And  so  God  keep  and  prosper 
thee." 

Even  while  their  hands  were  locked  together,  each 
glanced  over  his  shoulder  to  windward.  Not  half  a  bow- 
shot off,  the  great  Spanish  war-ship  bore  down  under 
press  of  sail ;  her  decks  crowded  with  spearmen,  and  her 
towers  bristling  with  cross-bows.  In  the  forward  turret 
stood  a  knight  wearing  a  gorgeous  surcoat  over  bright 
plate-armor,  who  ever  and  anon  turned  his  head,  motion- 
ing to  the  steersman  with  his  drawn  sword.  This  was 
none  other  than  Ponce  de  Leon,  brother  to  Hernando,  the 
Vice-Admiral,  and  one  of  the  famousest  knights  in  Cas- 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.          373 

tile.  The  huge  black  stem  forged  nearer  and  nearer,  as 
though  purposing  to  strike  the  English  craft  amidships, 
and  sink  it  with  the  mere  shock ;  but  at  the  last  moment 
the  galley's  helm  was  jammed  hard  down,  so  that  her 
sails  shivered  in  the  wind,  and  she  ranged  up  to  her 
enemy  broadside  on.  As  the  bulwarks  touched,  the  Span- 
iard cast  out  his  grappells,  and  then  ensued  a  mellay, 
fierce  and  obstinate. 

Keen  and  reckless  as  in  his  maiden  fray,  old  Walter 
Breckenridge  cast  himself  into  the  teeth  of  the  boarders ; 
and,  repelling  their  first  onslaught,  crossed  blades  on  the 
Spanish  deck  with  Ponce  de  Leon.  So  doughty,  indeed, 
did  the  veteran  bestir  himself,  that  Ralph,  though  he  had 
work  enough  on  his  own  hands,  could  not  refrain  from 
glancing  sometimes  over  his  shoulder  to  watch  the  sword- 
play  on  his  left.  Suddenly  a  cry — half  of  wrath,  half  of 
warning — broke  from  the  Free  Companion's  lips ;  but  it 
came  too  late.  Walter  Breckenridge,  fully  engaged  with 
the  foe  in  his  front,  wist  not  of  a  blow  leveled  sidelong  at 
him,  till  the  mace  descended  where  the  neck  joins  the 
spine.  'Twas  a  felon  stroke ;  but  so  starkly  delivered  that 
the  brave  old  knight  dropped  dead  in  his  tracks,  with 
scarce  a  quiver  in  his  lower  limbs — like  an  ox  felled  in  the 
shambles.  Ponce  de  Leon  turned,  in  hot  anger,  to  see 
who  had  dared  to  interfere  with  his  handiwork ;  but  he 
had  no  chance  to  chide  the  offender.  Ralph  Brakespeare 
marked  who  dealt  the  blow — a  tall,  dark-visaged  hidalgo 
— and  swore  under  his  breath  a  bitter  oath  that  he  would 
have  that  man's  life,  at  whatsoever  peril  of  his  own. 

But  he  chose  a  surer  way  than  combat,  after  the  rules 
of  warfare ;  wherein,  by  stress  of  numbers,  he  might  have 
been  baulked  of  his  vengeance,  and  lost  liberty  to  boot. 
Flinging  down  his  estoc,  so  that  both  hands  were  free,  he 
drove  headlong  through  the  press,  and  in  another  second, 
those  two  were  knit  in  grapple.  The  Spaniard's  mace  was 


374          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

useless;  but,  plucking  his  poignard  from  its  sheath,  he 
smote  his  assailant  with  it  on  the  breast,  fair  and  full. 
The  Toledan  blade  shivered  like  glass  on  the  Milan  mail- 
shirt  ;  and,  before  any  were  aware  of  his  intent,  the  Free 
Companion  had  dragged  his  victim — choking  and  strug- 
gling in  a  grasp  against  which  the  gorget  was' poor  fence 
— across  the  deck,  through  the  skirts  of  the  throng,  and 
plunged  over  the  weather  bulwark,  keeping  the  fetter- 
lock of  his  ringers  fast.  With  a  splash  that  was  heard 
over  all  the  battle-din,  the  two  bodies  struck  the  water 
together ;  but  only  one  rose  to  the  surface ;  the  other  the 
deep  sea  kept  for  her  own — to  have  and  to  hold  until  the 
day,  when,  perforce,  she  must  render  up  her  dead. 

Lanyon,  as  you  know,  was  standing  within  earshot 
when  his  master  first  spoke  of  swimming;  and  incontin- 
ently, without  further  orders,  he  began  to  make  ready — 
in  this  wise. 

There  was  still  a  goodly  quantity  of  liquor  left  in  the 
flask  that  he  carried  back  to  the  cabin ;  putting  this  to  his 
lips,  he  drained  it  to  the  very  dregs,  muttering  to  himself 
some  gruff  apology  about  "keeping  out  the  cold."  Next 
he  cast  loose  his  cumbrous  leather  gipon,  and  doffed  his 
bascinet,  so  that  he  stood  bareheaded  in  tight-fitting  jer- 
kin and  hose ;  then  he  took  out  of  an  iron-bound  coffer  a 
broad  leathern  belt,  and  thrust  into  this,  when  he  had 
buckled  it  round  his  waist,  a  light  dudgeon-dagger.  Thus 
accoutred,  he  emerged  on  deck,  just  at  the  moment  when 
the  Spaniard  cast  out  his  grappling-ladders.  The  squire 
had  evidently  no  purpose  of  taking  part  in  the  mellay. 
He  was  a  very  glutton  of  hard  blows  at  proper  times  and 
seasons;  but  he  was  none  of  those  hair-brained  despera- 
does who  fight  for  fighting  sake,  and  would  as  soon  have 
thought  of  thrusting  himself  into  a  feast  whereto  he  was 
not  bidden,  as  into  a  fray  where  he  had  no  concern.  So 
he  climbed  up  a  little  way  into  the  lee  rigging,  where,  for 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  375 

the  nonce,  he  was  out  of  danger,  save  from  stray  missiles ; 
and  followed  keenly  and  coolly  every  movement  of  his 
master's,  intending  to  guide  his  own  thereby.  Seeing 
Brakespeare  disappear,  with  his  prey  in  his  gripe,  over  the 
bulwark  of  the  Spanish  galley,  Lanyon  drew  a  long,  slow 
breath,  after  the  fashion  of  practised  divers;  and,  with- 
out more  ado,  leaped  head  foremost  into  the  water. 

When  the  Free  Companion  came  up  panting  after  the 
long  plunge,  the  first  sound  in  his  ears  was  a  familiar 
voice  close  by. 

"Hither  away,  my  lord.    Hither  away." 

And,  as  he  dashed  the  brine  out  of  his  eyes,  he  saw 
rising  on  the  crest  of  the  swell  the  shaggy  head  and  bull- 
neck  of  his  old  retainer. 

So  many  and  diverse  were  the  phases  of  peril  those 
two  had  faced  together  that  both  master  and  man  took 
such  matters  now  with  incredible  equanimity. 

"Aha!  thou  art  here,  then?" — was  all  the  knight  said. 
Then,  with  one  hand,  unclasping  his  bascinet,  he  tossed 
it  away,  turned  himself  about,  and  led  the  way  shore- 
wards.  They  might  have  advanced  half  a  furlong,  when 
a  great  cry  from  behind  him  made  both  swimmers  look 
back. 

Mere  weight  of  numbers  had  forced  the  English  back 
to  the  deck  of  their  own  vessel,  and  there  the  fray  was 
waged  savagely  as  ever ;  for  the  stout  squires  and  sturdy 
yeomen  fought  on  the  more  doggedly,  because,  since  their 
leader  was  down,  there  was  none  cared  to  take  upon 
himself  to  cry  "Surrender" ;  and  the  Spaniards,  enraged 
by  such  obstinacy,  were  little  minded  to  show  quarter. 
So  they  hurtled  to  and  fro,  never  heeding  the  gurgle  of 
the  water  rushing  into  the  hold  under  their  feet,  or  the 
gunwale's  sinking  till  it  touched  the  water's  edge.  All  at 
once  came  a  heel  to  leeward ;  the  green  foam-flecked  surge 
swept  in  amidships  up  to  the  waists  of  the  combatants; 


376          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

and  tearing  herself  clear  of  the  grapples,  the  English 
craft  foundered  bodily — carrying  with  her  the  dead,  the 
wounded,  and  the  living,  who  were  scarce  in  better  case ; 
for,  of  those  who  went  down  alive,  all  harnessed,  into  the 
ghastly  whirlpool,  not  one  in  ten  saw  light  again. 
Amongst  the  drowned  were  Ponce  de  Leon,  and  other 
renowned  Castilian  captains  besides.  So,  when  awhile 
later,  the  Spaniards  stripped  Breckenridge  of  his  armor, 
and  flung  his  corpse  over  with  the  rest,  a  gallant  com- 
pany waited  for  him  down  there  twenty  fathoms  deep ; 
1  though  never  an  one  of  the  sleepers,  when  he  came 
amongst  them,  turned  on  his  pillow. 

"God  rest  their  souls!" — quoth  the  knight,  through  his 
set  teeth. 

"Amen" — said  the  squire. 

With  that  brief  funeral  oration,  each  set  his  face  again 
shorewards,  and  swam  on  silently.  For  a  while  they  made 
steady  way ;  the  tide,  which  was  at  its  slack,  neither  aid- 
ing nor  impeding  their  progress.  But  they  were  still  some 
distance  from  the  nearest  rocky  promontory  opposite  the 
Isle  de  Re,  when  Ralph  Brakespeare  began  to  draw  his 
strokes  more  and  more  slowly,  and  his  strength  was  plain- 
ly well-nigh  spent. 

"A  plague  on  this  mail-shirt" — he  said,  hoarsely,  as 
Lanyon  ranged  up  alongside.  "On  land  it  weighed  no 
more  than  if  it  had  been  woven  of  silk ;  but  it  is  a  shrewd 
weight  to  carry  through  water,  and  cramps  mine  arms  to 
boot.  I  shall  sleep  with  old  Walter  Breckenridge  to-night 
after  all.  So  shift  for  thyself,  honest  Will.  If  thou  dost 
win  safe  back  to  Hacouemont,  tell  them  that  I  tried  hard 
to  keep  tryst." 

For  the  first  time  in  all  his  life  the  sturdy  Kentish- 
man's  heart  fluttered  like  a  girl's ;  yet  he  constrained  him- 
self to  speak  cheerily. 

"Nay,  nay,  my  lord,  'tis  not  yet  come  to  such  a  pass  as 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  377 

to  think  of  farewells.  For  the  matter  of  that,  whether 
ye  sink  or  swim,  I  am  minded  to  keep  you  company.  Take 
breath  for  a  brief  space,  resting  your  hands  on  my  shoul- 
ders— so.  Fear  not  to  trust  yourself :  I  profess  I  feel  not 
your  weight." 

For  a  minute  or  two  there  was  silence,  broken  only  by 
the  knight's  deep  laboring  breath,  during  which  Lanyon's 
small  keen  eyes  roved  anxiously  round  over  the  smooth 
sea. 

"What  is  that?"  he  cried  out  at  last,  leaping  breast- 
high  from  the  water.  "By  the  Mass!  if  I  mistake  not,  we 
are  saved.  Yon  wave,  breaking  in  a  smooth  sea  must 
needs  break  on  a  rock  a-wash  ;  'twill  be  hard  if  we  find  not 
standing  ground  thereon  till  the  cramp  passeth." 

Some  two-score  strokes  brought  them  to  the  spot,  and 
the  esquire's  hopes  proved  to  be  well-founded.  It  was  one 
of  the  small  sunken  islets,  common  along  that  dangerous 
coast,  that  at  ebb-tide  are  nearly  bare ;  the  water  now 
scarcely  more  than  covered  it,  and  there  was  so  little 
swell  that  the  swimmers  had  no  difficulty  in  keeping  hand 
and  foot-hold.  When  the  strain  on  his  sinews  was  once 
slackened,  Ralph  Brakespeare  breathed  freely  again ;  and 
his  numbed  limbs  grew  lissom  and  strong  once  more  in 
the  bright  sunshine.  Before  the  water  on  the  rock  grew 
waist-deep,  he  was  sufficiently  refreshed  to  start  again ; 
so,  swimming  slowly  in  on  the  back  of  the  young  flood- 
tide,  without  further  danger  or  mishap  they  set  foot  on  the 
reefs,  and  scrambled  safely  to  shore. 

Whilst  he  took  needful  rest,  sitting  on  the  brown  sands, 
Ralph  looked  anxiously  seaward ;  and  to  his  practised  eyes 
and  ears  it  was  plain  that  the  battle  was  done.  The  roar 
and  rattle  of  the  Spanish  artillery  had  ceased  altogether ; 
and  the  shout  that  come  across  the  water  was  as  the 
shout  of  triumph,  not  of  combat.  The  throng  of  ships 
was  beginning  to  disentangle  itself  into  something  like 


378          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

regular  lines;  whilst  every  pennon  that  could  be  dis- 
cerned bore  the  arms  of  Castile. 

At  length  the  knight  arose,  shaking  himself  impa- 
tiently. 

"A  sorry  sight" — he  muttered — "a  sorry  sight.  Though 
if  stout  Walter  Breckenridge  were  alive  and  free,  I  know 
not  why  I  should  greatly  care.  Come  on,  and  let  us  hear 
what  they  are  saying  in  Rochelle ;  albeit,  if  we  find  no  old 
acquaintance  there,  we  are  like  to  fare  foully,  both  in  food 
and  lodging.  The  beggarly  citizens  are  scarce  like  to  give 
us  either  for  charity." 

"We  need  not  be  beholden  to  them  for  such  matters" — 
the  squire  made  answer,  with  the  gruff  chuckle  which 
always  betokened  approval  of  himself  or  others.  "  'Twas 
not  for  naught  I  girt  myself  with  this  belt  before  starting. 
It  felt  parlous  heavy  when  your  worship  looked  so  wan; 
and  I  was  fumbling  with  the  buckle,  when  mine  eye 
lighted  on  yon  blessed  rock.  Marry,  'tis  as  well  I  slipped 
it  not!" 

As  he  smote  on  the  leather  with  his  brawny  hand,  there 
came  from  within  a  pleasant  jangle  of  gold. 

Craving  favor  at  strangers'  hands  was  so  repugnant  to 
Ralph  Brakespeare's  nature,  that  he  felt  scarcely  less 
grateful  to  Lanyon  for  his  providence,  than  if  he  had 
saved  his  life  twice  over ;  yet  he  only  said — "I  thank  thee" 
— as  he  strode  onwards  without  lifting  his  head  from  his 
breast ;  and  with  this  acknowledgment  the  squire  was 
more  than  content. 

The  event  of  the  long  battle  was  known  ere  this  in  La 
Rochelle;  and  the  townsmen  in  their  hearts  were  not  a 
little  pleased  thereat.  Yet  they  thought  it  best  to  refrain 
from  public  rejoicing — not  knowing  how  soon  they  might 
have  to  give  account  for  their  slackness  in  rendering  aid 
when  it  was  so  bitterly  needed.  And  they  did  wisely; 
for  on  the  following  day — being  the  feast  of  St.  John — 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  379 

six  hundred  Gascon  and  English  spears,  headed  by  the 
Captal  de  Buch,  Percy,  Freville,  and  Devereux,  marched 
into  the  town. 

Much  incensed  and  grieved  were  those  famous  captains, 
when  they  found  they  had  come  too  late ;  and  were  fain, 
that  same  afternoon,  to  look  on  from  the  walls  whilst  the 
Spaniards  weighed  anchor  to  beat  of  drum  and  flourish  of 
trumpet — their  pennons  blazoned  with  the  arms  of  Castile 
and  Arragon,  trailing  to  the  sea — and  steered  for  the  coast 
of  Galicia,  if  with  not  much  booty  aboard,  with  prisoners 
worth  goodly  ransom. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

KEEPING  TRYST. 

MONG  the  lances  who  rode  into  La  Rochelle 
behind  the  Captal  de  Buch,  Sir  Ralph  Brake- 
speare  encountered  many  old  acquaintances, 
and  a  few  ancient  comrades.  In  those  days 
men  were  not  so  eager  as  heretofore  to  take  service  under 
the  Red  Cross ;  and  the  most  famous  captains  of  the  Eng- 
lish party  were  fain  not  to  be  over-nice  in  the  choice  of 
their  recruits,  so  long  as  these  last  could  do  a  day's  work 
worthy  their  large  hire.  He  himself  was  tempted,  by 
more  than  one  fair  proffer,  to  join  at  once  the  squadron 
that  rode  northwards  from  La  Rochelle  into  Brittany — 
leaving  in  the  castle  garrison  sufficient  to  overawe  the 
lukewarm  and  rebellious  burghers.  But,  having  resisted 
the  persuasions  of  Sir  Walter  Breckenridge,  for  whom  he 
had  a  real  liking,  the  Free  Companion  was  little  likely  to 
listen  to  those  of  strangers.  So,  after  three  days'  tar- 
riance  in  the  town,  the  knight  and  squire  turned  their 
faces  southwards ;  and  made  their  way  to  Bordeaux  as 
speedily  as  two  sorry  haquenees  could  carry  them. 

There  they  found  both  horses  and  harness  in  full  as 
good  case  as  they  had  left  them,  and  good  cheer  to  boot, 
in  the  house  of  the  merchant  who  had  these  in  charge. 
The  worthy  Bordelais  held  himself  highly  honored  by 
receiving  under  his  roof  so  renowned  a  soldier,  and  was 
sore  grieved  that  his  guest  could  in  no  wise  be  prevailed 
upon  to  abide  there  over  one  night. 


THE   FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  381 

Ralph  Brakespeare  had  been  sensible  for  some  time 
past  of  a  strange  hankering  to  find  himself  once  more 
with  his  friends  at  Hacquemont ;  and,  as  the  distance  les- 
sened betwixt  them,  this  grew  stronger.  He  slept  brok- 
enly, though  it  was  long  since  his  head  had  rested  on  so 
soft  a  pillow,  and  was  afoot  at  an  hour  that  even  his  host 
— himself  no  sluggard — thought  untimeous.  He  hurried 
over  leavetaking,  too,  as  fast  as  courtesy  permitted,  and 
vaulted  on  his  destrier  as  springily  as  when  he  first 
backed  the  roan — whose  bones  were  dust  these  many 
years — under  the  sign  of  "The  Spur" ;  shaking  himself  as 
he  lighted  on  the  war-saddle  till  corslet  and  cuissard  rat- 
tled again. 

In  very  deed,  Ralph  was  gladder  to  don  harness  that 
morning  than  ever  he  had  been  to  doff  it.  His  sober 
civilian's  attire  had  grown  hateful  to  him  of  late ;  and 
had  all  along  seemed  to  him,  as  it  were,  a  disguise.  Even 
the  mail-shirt  that,  since  the  morning  of  the  sea-fight,  he 
had  continued  to  wear  under  his  doublet,  was  but  a  sorry 
substitute  for  the  familiar  armor,  under  which  his  shoul- 
ders seemed  to  move  more  naturally  than  under  silk  or 
serge.  Somewhat  of  this  same  feeling  stirred  in  Lanyon's 
more  stolid  temperament.  Long  rest  and  bounteous  prov- 
ender, too,  had  made  their  cattle  full  of  lustihood.  So, 
more  jocundly  than  they  had  ridden  of  late,  the  two 
traced  back  their  road  along  the  banks  of  the  Dordogne ; 
the  knight  turning  his  head  ever  and  anon,  to  cast  a 
pleasant  word  to  his  squire,  who  kept  his  distance  to  the 
rear  as  regularly  as  if  they  had  been  on  the  line  of  march. 
Nothing  of  moment  befell  them,  either  on  the  road  or  at 
the  two  hostelries  in  which  they  were  fain  to  abide ;  and 
the  third  evening  had  barely  closed  in,  when  a  faint  red 
gleam  on  the  left — a  little  lower  than  the  lowest  of  the 
rising  stars — told  them  they  were  within  ken  of  the  watch- 
tower  of  Hacquemont. 


382          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

Quoth  the  knight,  as  he  drew  bridle  and  halted,  whilst 
the  squire,  without  waiting  further  sign,  ranged  up  along- 
side: 

"How  thinkest  thou,  Will?  Shall  we  find  all  well  up 
yonder?  'Tis  a  shrewd  chance,  but  that  something  hath 
miscarried.  The  good  baron,  as  thou  knowest,  was  but 
weakling  when  we  set  forth ;  and,  unless  by  God's  special 
grace,  was  scarce  likely  to  mend.  Yet — I  wot  not  why — 
I  am  too  light  of  heart  greatly  to  fear." 

"  'Twould  ill  become  me  to  be  wiser  than  your  worship" 
— the  other  answered,  with  his  hoarse  chuckle.  "I  would 
warrant  them  all  as  thriving  as  when  we  parted — unless, 
perchance,  my  gossip  Gilles,  through  very  weariness  of 
drinking  alone,  hath  been  too  liberal  with  the  wine-pot  for 
his  health.  He  and  I  grumbled  on  well  enough  together  ; 
but  none  other  cared  for  the  company  of  the  cross- 
grained  old  knave." 

The  knight  nodded  his  head,  like  one  well  pleased  at 
finding  an  echo  to  his  own  feelings ;  and,  giving  his  des- 
trier the  spur,  rode  sharply  up  the  steep  winding  ascent 
before  them.  Once  again  they  drew  bridle  on  the  plateau 
before  the  barbican  of  Hacquemont ;  and  once  again, 
obeying  his  lord's  sign,  the  squire  sounded  a  long,  shrill 
blast  on  his  bugle ;  dwelling  in  a  peculiar  fashion  on  the 
last  notes. 

After  brief  delay,  the  faint  light  streaming  through  a 
window-slit  above,  was  darkened  by  a  man's  head  and 
shoulders ;  and  a  voice,  like  the  grating  of  a  handsaw, 
croaked  out  into  the  night  air — 

"Mine  eyes  are  no  better  than  a  newt's  by  starlight; 
yet  surely  they  are  but  two.  The  marauding  rascaille  are 
full  of  schemes  and  counterfeits ;  otherwise  would  I  swear 
that  no  other  living  man  than  my  compere  Guillaume 
wound  that  blast." 

"And  for  once  thou  wouldst  swear  truth,  my  gossip 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  383 

Gilles" — the  squire  made  answer  from  without ;  "though 
I  have  heard  thee  swear  as  stoutly  to  tales  that  none  of  us 
could  swallow.  Be  deliverly  with  the  keys,  I  pray  thee. 
Our  cattle  are  somewhat  heated  with  travel,  and  the  night 
air  waxes  chill." 

"At  thy  japes  again,  so  soon?"  the  other  grumbled, 
"Pardi,  it  is  well  thou  returnest  not  alone.  There  hath 
been  waiting  and  watching  within  for  the  coming  of  the 
knight  thou  servest.  My  good  lord  Sir  Ralph,  you  are 
heartily  welcome." 

Within  a  few  minutes,  the  Free  Companion,  using  less 
ceremony  than  aforetime,  had  made  his  way  to  the  apart- 
ment above  which  served  Philippe  de  Hacquemont  both  as 
bed  and  presence-chamber. 

It  struck  him  at  once  how  wonderfully  unchanged  was 
everything  since  he  passed  under  that  same  doorway,  a 
full  year  agone.  There  was  the  same  wan,  white-haired 
figure  reclining — perhaps  a  little  more  listlessly — in  the 
great  arm-chair  hung  with  green ;  the  same  stately  lady 
bending  anxiously  over  her  father's  shoulder;  the  same 
dark,  handsome  face  looking  wistfully  out  of  the  dusky 
background ;  and  for  the  welcome — that  surely  was  not 
changed,  or  if  so,  was  even  warmer  than  heretofore. 

Those  hawk's-eyes  of  Ralph  Brakespeare — as  hath  been 
already  told — were  strangely  dull  at  discerning  certain 
signs  and  tokens,  that  others,  less  keen  of  sight,  would 
have  read  easily  enow.  He  never  noted  the  bright  color 
sink  in  Odille's  cheek ;  nor  how  her  cold  hand  trembled 
as  he  lifted  it  to  his  lips;  nor  how,  during  that  salute, 
though  it  savored  of  nought  warmer  than  such  courtesy 
as  is  usual  betwixt  knight  and  dame,  de  Marsan's  eyes 
flashed  through  the  dusk,  whilst  his  fingers  were  twined 
and  twisted,  like  those  of  one  who  has  hard  work  to  keep 
some  mad  impulse  down.  Yet  Gualtier  had  so  far  recov- 
ered his  self-command,  when  his  turn  for  greeting  came, 


384          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

as  to  bear  himself  in  all  respects  as  befitted  his  station. 
However  cordial  might  be  the  kindness  betwixt  them,  in 
those  days  there  was  little  familiar  intercourse  betwixt 
knight  and  esquire. 

That  evening  was  scarce  long  enough  for  the  telling  of 
all  that  had  befallen  the  travelers  since  they  rode  out  of 
Hacquemont  It  was  good  to  see  how  the  poor  old 
Baron's  eyes  sparkled,  and  his  bowed,  broken  figure 
straightened  itself  as  he  heard  of  the  great  sea-battle. 
Before  the  story  was  half  ended,  the  color  had  come  back 
to  the  Lady  of  Champrecourt's  cheek,  and  she  listened 
scarce  less  eagerly  than  her  father ;  and  Gualtier  de  Mar- 
san  drew  nearer  in  involuntary  eagerness  and  attention, 
biting  his  lip,  though  savagely,  whilst  the  narrator  spoke, 
with  the  careless  simplicity  that  formed  part  and  parcel 
of  his  nature,  of  what  would  have  furnished  most  men 
with  a  theme  for  their  old  age. 

Once,  when  the  tale  was  nearly  done,  the  Baron's 
glance  turned  toward  his  daughter,  and  he  muttered,  half 
aloud — 

"Mark  that!    Markest  thou  that,  Odille?" 

And  the  Lady  of  Champrecourt's  dark  eye-lashes  went 
down ;  and  the  color  died  out  of  her  cheek — this  time  not 
to  return  again  so  soon.  This  befell,  when  Ralph  told 
how — when  the  deadly  numbness  grew  on  him  as  he 
swam — he  had  committed  to  Lanyon  the  message  for 
Hacquemont,  concerning  the  tryst  he  had  bound  him- 
self to  keep  there. 

That  night  nothing  was  said  beyond  the  questions  and 
replies  that  needs  must  pass  when  friends  have  been  long 
parted,  betwixt  those  that  have  gone  forth  and  those  who 
have  tarried  behind ;  and,  somewhat  before  the  usual 
hour,  each  and  all  betook  themselves  to  their  chambers  to 
rest  or  wake  as  seemed  to  them  good.  But  early  on  the 
morrow  the  Baron  sent  for  Brakespeare  to  his  chamber; 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.          385 

and,  without  long  preamble,  broke  into  the  subject  nearest 
his  heart. 

"The  Saints  have  listened  to  my  prayers  and  my  vows 
to  boot" — he  said — "in  so  far  that  I  have  lived  to  see 
thee  return  once  again,  my  son.  Yet  well  I  know  that  the 
respite  is  but  short,  and  groweth  shorter,  not  daily,  but 
hourly.  Sin  and  shame  it  were,  if  I  dallied  longer ;  when 
there  is  no  hindrance  that  I  wot  of,  but  thou  shouldest 
presently  become  my  son  in  very  deed,  no  less  than  in 
name.  I  have  spoken  to  Odille  ;  and  I  dare  aver  thou  wilt 
find  no  coyness." 

The  Free  Companion  arose  from  his  seat,  and  strode 
twice  or  thrice  through  the  chamber  before  he  made  an- 
swer, in  a  voice  much  less  steady  than  usual. 

"My  good  lord,  you  cannot  doubt  my  gratitude.  The 
Lady  of  Champrecourt's  hand  were  a  royal  gift  to  one 
of  thrice  my  merit  and  degree.  Yet,  under  your  favor,  I 
crave  you  to  remember  that  'twas  agreed  betwixt  us  that 
her  own  free  will  should,  in  no  wise,  unduly  be  swayed. 
She  loves  you  from  the  bottom  of  her  pure  heart,  I  know ; 
and,  to  do  your  pleasure,  it  may  be,  would  imperil  her 
life's  happiness,  or  aught  short  of  her  soul's  welfare. 
Wherefore  I  fain  would  hear  now  of  your  own  lips  if  this 
part  of  our  pact  hath  been  kept  to  the  letter." 

The  castellan  frowned  as  he  made  answer — vexed  per- 
chance, rather  at  his  own  thoughts  and  misgivings  than 
at  the  other's  frank  speaking. 

"Thou  art  something  over-nice,  my  son.  Nevertheless, 
to  quiet  thy  scruples,  I  do  solemnly  affirm  that  I  have  in 
no  wise  used,  much  less  strained,  fatherly  authority  in 
this  matter.  If  thou  winnest  Odille's  hand,  'twill  be 
given,  I  do  verily  believe,  with  a  good  and  free  will.  Her 
liking  and  esteem  for  thee  date  not  from  yesterday.  Time 
and  sorrow  have  somewhat  tamed  her;  and,  perchance, 
she  will  be  more  chary  of  her  blushes  and  her  smiles  than 


386          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

if  this  had  been  her  first  wooing ;  but,  if  she  saith  'yea/ 
there  will  come  to  thee  a  wife,  as  leal  and  tender  as  heart 
of  man  could  desire." 

Since  his  childhood  Philippe  de  Hacquemont  had  never 
wittingly  lied  to  any  living  creature;  it  is  most  certain 
he  believed  himself  to  be  speaking  simple  truth  now.  He 
forgot — perhaps  he  had  schooled  himself  to  forget — the 
piteous  pleading  glances,  eager  hand-clasps,  heavy  sighs, 
and  many  other  mute  eloquences — more  persuasive  than 
such  rude  instruments  of  parental  tyranny,  as  threats,  up- 
braiding curses,  or  even  bolts  and  bars. 

Such  as  it  was  the  answer  fully  satisfied  Ralph ;  and 
that  same  day  before  noon,  in  his  own  frank,  straightfor- 
ward fashion,  he  required  an  answer  to  his  suit  from  the 
Lady  of  Champrecourt. 

Sitting  white  and  still  as  a  statue — with  a  dull,  mechan- 
ical smile  flickering  about  her  lips — Odille  listened  to  her 
suitor's  brief  pleading,  and  made  answer  instantly,  as  if 
afraid  to  trust  herself  to  pause. 

"Good  friend,  I  will  not  palter  with  you.  I  had  never 
thought  again  to  doff  my  widow's  weeds,  but  if  your 
thought  is  as  my  father's — that  my  hand  will  make  you 
happier — it  is  freely  yours.  That  poor  gift  will  scarce 
pay  the  debt  you  laid  on  Hacquemont,  when  you  saved 
all  the  household  from  a  cruel  death,  and  us  women  from 
dishonor  crueler  far.  There  is  little  left  in  me  of  the 
Odille  who  used  to  chant  to  you  virelais  long  ago ;  but 
if  I  cannot  minister  greatly  to  your  pleasure,  I  am  ready 
henceforth  to  share  your  pains  and  sorrows ;  and  to  bear 
myself  in  all  things  as  befits  a  humble,  true,  and  loyal 
wife.  So  may  our  Lady  aid  me,  and  the  blessed  Saint 
Ursula !" 

Over  Ralph's  grateful  joy,  and  over  Philippe  de 
Hacquemont's  triumph,  it  is  needless  to  tarry.  The  news 
took  none  in  the  castle  very  much  by  surprise ;  unless  it 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.          387 

was  Gilles,  the  ancient  warder,  who — since  about  thirty 
winters  agone  he  lost  a  spouse,  more  bitter  and  cross- 
grained  than  himself — had  come  to  consider  marrying, 
and  giving  in  marriage  as  things  contrary  to  nature  and 
to  the  will  of  God. 

In  those  troublous  times,  all  pomps  and  ceremonies 
were  much  curtailed ;  and  it  was  a  very  quiet  wedding. 
Nevertheless  it  was  needful  that  certain  preparations 
should  be  made  and  guests  bidden,  for  the  castellan  was 
not  mindful  that  the  contract  should  be  slurred  over,  or 
done  in  secret,  as  if  it  were  one  he  was  ashamed  of. 
Furthermore,  from  the  neighboring  town  of  Bergerac 
was  summoned  a  scrivener  learned  in  the  law,  by  whom 
divers  deeds  and  parchments  were  engrossed,  setting 
forth  that — Philippe,  Baron  of  Hacquemont,  being  then 
well  stricken  in  years,  and  devoid  of  male  issue,  did  there- 
by solemnly  adopt  as  his  heir  and  successor,  Sir  Ralph 
Brakespeare,  who  was  licensed  henceforth  to  bear  the 
name  and  arms  of  Hacqnemont.  All  this  was  duly  wit- 
nessed, signed,  and  sealed. 

On  one  of  these  errands  Gualtier  de  Marsan  had  rid- 
den far  and  fast ;  and,  as  he  returned,  got  drenched  in  a 
rain-storm.  That  same  night  he  was  seized  with  shiver- 
ing fits,  and  on  the  morrow,  was  in  fierce  fever,  which,  on 
the  morning  fixed  for  the  wedding  had  fairly  mastered 
his  brain.  The  esquire  was  a  great  favorite  at  Hacque- 
mont, with  the  household,  and  the  Free  Companion  him- 
self felt  right  sorry  for  his  state,  and  had  more  than 
once  visited  the  sick  chamber.  But  at  each  of  these  visits 
the  raving  seemed  to  break  forth  with  fresh  violence ;  and 
at  last  the  leech  forbade  entrance  to  any  save  himself  and 
the  nurse.  For  many  reasons  the  marriage  could  not  be 
put  off ;  indeed,  it  would  have  been  useless  to  propose  to 
the  old  castellan  any  such  delay. 

So  Ralph  Brakespeare  and  Odille  de  Champrecourt 


388  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

knit  hands  and  plighted  troth  before  the  chapel-altar — 
under  evil  auspices,  in  truth,  with  darkening  shadows  all 
around.  Emotion  and  excitement  had  told  heavily  of 
late  on  the  Baron  of  Hacquemont ;  and  it  was  plain  to  al! 
that,  with  a  few  more  turns  of  the  hour-glass,  his  life's 
sand  must  run  out.  And,  as  the  scanty  bridal-train 
passed  from  the  chapel  through  the  court,  there  rang  out 
from  a  window  far  above,  a  terrible  cry,  followed  by  a 
burst  of  maniac  laughter,  sending  a  thrill  through  the 
stoutest  heart  there  and  causing  the  bride  to  shiver  like 
an  aspen. 

Those  sounds  came  from  the  sick  chamber  where  Gual- 
tier  de  Marsan  lay  tossing,  like  a  rudderless  barque,  very 
near  the  fork  of  the  Dark  River — whereof  one  branch 
winds  slowly  back  through  the  pleasant  meadow-lands  of 
Life  whilst  the  other  hurries  on  swift  and  straight  into 
the  deep  Dead  Sea. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

THE  SUMMER  OF  ST.    MARTIN. 

HILIPPE  DE  HACQUEMONT  had  gauged 
very  justly  the  measure  of  mercy  meted  out 
in  answer  to  his  prayers.  He  did  survive  to 
see  his  favorite  project  fulfilled;  but  barely 
more.  It  seemed  as  though  he  had  braced  himself  for 
this  one  object,  partly  by  an  effort  of  the  will,  and,  when 
it  was  accomplished,  was  not  eager  to  prolong  the  strug- 
gle. He  would  sit  for  hours  without  speaking,  and  not 
caring  much,  as  it  seemed,  to  be  spoken  to ;  quite  happy  in 
his  own  thoughts,  and  in  watching  the  new  married  pair, 
sitting — also  rather  silent — together.  Then  again  he 
would  brighten  up,  for  a  while,  into  something  like  his 
old  self.  On  one  of  these  last  occasions,  he  desired  to 
confer  with  Ralph  alone,  and  thus  bespoke  him : 

"My  fair  son,  I  have,  as  thou  knowest,  done  all  that 
lies  within  my  power  to  confirm  thee  in  thine  heirship 
here ;  and — forasmuch  as  there  liveth  no  male,  near  of 
my  kin — it  importeth  no  one  man,  that  I  wot  of,  to  oust 
thee  from  thine  heritage.  Nevertheless,  that  thou  wilt 
enjoy  it  unto  the  end  peacefully,  without  hindrance  or 
peril,  I  may  not  hope.  Whilst  the  present  troubles  of  our 
realm  endure,  few — whether  they  be  great  or  small — have 
leisure  to  concern  themselves  with  their  neighbor's  af- 
fairs ;  and  it  may  be  long  before  news  is  brought  to  Paris 
that  this  worn-out  carcass  of  mine  is  laid  in  the  grave. 
But  when  Charles  the  Wise  shall  know  how  things  stand 


390          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

here,  thinkest  thou  our  politic  King  will  sit  with  folded 
hands  whilst  the  fair  fief  of  Hacquemont  is  held  by  one 
who  oweth  him  not  fealty ;  and  who  will  send  never  a 
spear  to  the  muster,  even  should  the  Oriflamme  be 
raised?  Moreover,  in  these  times,  I  hold  it  not  possible 
for  a  trained  soldier  to  lie  supine — taking  his  ease  at 
home,  and  siding  neither  with  England  nor  France.  True 
it  is,  that  certain  fortresses  are  even  now  held  with  the 
strong  hand,  by  certain  who  take  service  on  either  side 
as  it  suits  their  humor,  bearing  allegiance  to  none.  I 
would  not  have  thee  ranged  among  these;  and,  well  I 
trust,  thou  hast  foresworn  their  company  for  ever  and 
aye.  When  I  proffered  thee  Odille,  and  chose  thee  for 
mine  heir,  I  took  no  promise  from  thee  concerning  this 
matter ;  neither  do  I  seek  to  bind  thee  new.  Nevertheless, 
I  freely  aver  that,  hadst  thou  been  in  open  arms  against 
my  lord  our  King,  I  could  not  in  honor  or  conscience 
have  set  mine  hand  to  either  contract.  But  thou  earnest 
from  beyond  Alps — a  Free  Lance  in  very  truth — owing 
fealty  to  none.  Neither  would  it  be  more  strange  to  see 
thee,  being  English  born,  do  thy  devoir  under  the  Lilies, 
than  to  hear  of  all  the  knights  and  barons  of  Gascony 
and  Poitou,  who  cry,  'St.  George  Guienne !'  Once  more, 
I  require  of  thee  no  promise ;  but  I  charge  thee,  when 
I  am  gone,  to  weigh  all  these  things  needfully — putting 
no  violence  on  thyself;  and  then  to  decide,  as  seemeth 
best  for  thine  own  honor  and  for  the  safety  of  the  dear 
child  I  leave  in  thy  guard." 

Ralph's  brows  were  bent  as  he  listened,  and  his  answer 
came  but  slowly. 

"My  lord  and  father,  your  speech  is  wise  and  generous 
as  ever.  Trust  me,  not  now  for  the  first  time  do  I  ponder 
these  things  and  ever  find  myself  in  the  same  strait ;  yet 
I  scarce  know  why  it  should  be  thus  with  me.  I  have 
never  a  home-tie  beyond  the  seas ;  and  here  I  had  many 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  391 

such,  even  before  the  last  seven  days  made  them  seven- 
fold stronger.  For  ten  years  I  have  been  fighting  yonder 
for  hireling's  pay,  .scarce  knowing — and  to  speak  sooth, 
scarce  caring — that  the  banner  under  which  I  lay  down  at 
night  should  be  ranged  against  me  on  the  morrow.  Such 
scruples  are  misplaced  in  my  heart,  as  would  be  the  Cross 
of  St.  Louis  on  my  breast ;  yet  I  cannot  away  with  them 
altogether.  Maybe  I  shall  wax  wise  and  be  better  able 
to  discern  the  right  path  after  biding  here  for  a  while. 
Be  sure  of  this — I  will  constrain  myself  much  rather  than 
in  any  wise  imperil  the  welfare  of  my  dear  lady,  your 
daughter." 

"Thou  sayest  well,  and  I  am  content" — the  castellan 
replied. 

Then  after  taking  breath,  he  went  on  more  earnestly 
than  before. 

"Mark  me  now.  Unless  I  grossly  err,  over  things  in 
these  parts  there  will  shortly  come  a  great  change.  Since 
his  fleet  was  swept  away  under  thine  eyes  before  Ro- 
chelle,  there  hath  been  shrewd  ebb  in  King  Edward's 
power.  Poitou  he  ever  ruled  rather  by  fear  than  love ; 
and  the  malcontents  there  have  waxed  outspoken  and 
bold.  In  Guienne  too,  his  lieutenants  have  not  strength- 
ened his  hands.  Thou  knowest  what  tidings  have  come 
to  Bergerac  of  late.  The  Constable's  staff,  in  Du  Gues- 
clin's  grasp,  is  no  gilded  bauble.  Moncontour,  St.  Severe, 
Soubise,  and  many'  other  strong  places  have  gone  down 
before  him.  The  valiant  Captal  de  Buch  is  prisoner ; 
neither  will  our  King  be  over  speedy  in  putting  him  to 
ransom.  Even  now,  if  common  report  be  true,  the  chief- 
est  of  the  Poitevins,  who  still  hold  to  the  Red  Cross,  are 
closely  penned  in  Thouars ;  and,  unless  succor  come  from 
England,  are  under  covenant  to  surrender  by  an  appointed 
day.  Pardi,  if  matters  go  on  thus,  such  as  dwell  in 
France,  and  deny  fealty  to  her  Suzerain,  will  stand  like 


392          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

lonely  trees — a  ready  mark  both  for  the  blast  and  the 
felling." 

"There  is  reason  in  all  this" — the  other  answered, 
gravely.  "That  the  battle  hath  gone  hard  against  Edward 
of  late,  I  may  not  deny.  Yet  having  heard  much  con- 
cerning him,  and  seen  somewhat  of  that  King  in  early 
days,  and  heard  more  from  those  who  have  been  near  his 
person — such  as  stout  Walter  Breckenridge,  whom  God 
assoilzie ! — I  guess  that  he  will  not  lightly  relinquish 
that  which  it  hath  cost  so  much  time  and  gold  and  blood 
to  obtain.  Men  wax  not  less  stubborn  as  they  wax  older 
till  they  begin  to  doat ;  and  had  you,  my  lord,  looked  on 
his  face,  as  I  did,  day  by  day  during  Calais  leaguer,  you 
would  share  my  faith,  that  he  will  essay  one  great  em- 
prize  at  the  least,  ere  he  listen  to  any  such  terms  of  treaty 
as  France  would  propose.  Yon  armament  under  Pem- 
broke which  so  heavily  miscarried  was,  I  know,  meant 
only  as  the  forerunner  of  a  mightier  one.  The  cry  for 
help  from  Thouars  must  needs  bring  things  to  an  issue ; 
King  Edward  cannot  be  deaf  thereto  for  very  shame.  I 
dare  aver,  ere  this  there  is  chafe  and  stir  at  Windsor ;  and 
that  the  arriereban  hath  gone  forth  already,  from  the 
Scottish  Border  southwards,  throughout  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  land.  I  am  minded  to  bide  here  quiet  for  a 
while,  marking  warily  the  changes  of  the  times.  Hacque- 
mont,  as  I  have  heard  you  say,  hath  ever  lain  somewhat 
remote  from  the  turmoil.  'Twill  be  easy  to  send  forth 
scouts  ever  and  anon  who  shall  bring  us  word  if  it  rolls 
our  way.  Thus  far  do  I  subscribe  to  your  opinion,  my 
good  lord:  if  King  Edward  should  lose  foothold  in 
Guienne,  or  keep  it  only  on  the  seaboard,  'twere  sheer 
madness  to  keep  his  banner  flying  over  a  few  scattered 
castles — for  the  Constable  to  sack  piece-meal  at  his  lei- 
sure. I  mind  well  the  words  that  were  ever  in  John 
Hawkwood's  mouth,  when  somewhat  had  to  be  done  at 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.          393 

which  he  guessed  we  might  have  qualms — we  were  not 
nice  of  stomach,  God  wot — 'necessity  hath  no  law' — 
quoth  he.  He  picked  up  the  proverb  from  a  priest;  yet 
'tis  truth,  perchance,  for  all  that ;  and  I  will  strive  to  com- 
fort myself  therewith — as  better  men  have  done,  I  trow 
— at  a  fitting  season.  The  Saints  guide  my  judgment,  to 
guess  when  it  hath  come!" 

"Amen" — the  old  castellan  answered,  as  he  leant  back, 
closing  his  eyes  with  a  long  sigh.  "We  will  speak  further 
of  these  matters,  but  not  now ;  I  am  too  weary.  Fetch 
Odille  to  me,  I  pray  thee.  Now  that  my  time  is  so  short, 
I  begrudge  her  being  long  out  of  my  presence.  I  bade 
her  go  to  inquire  concerning  the  health  of  Messire  Gual- 
tier ;  'tis  a  gentle  youth  and  a  kindly — yea,  also,  I  have 
done  him  some  wrong  in  my  thoughts  of  late.  I  am  well 
pleased  to  hear  that  he  is  mending  fast." 

Truly  said  Philippe  de  Hacquemont  that  his  time  was 
short ;  it  was  shorter  even  than  he  counted  on ;  and  on 
worldly  matters  he  spoke  again  never  a  word.  Early  on 
the  morrow  they  found  him  quite  dead — "lying  as  he  had 
smiled."  The  change  had  come  so  quietly  that  the  page 
who  slept  in  the  chamber  never  guessed  that  aught  had 
gone  amiss  till  he  drew  the  curtain  and  let  the  light  stream 
in  on  the  set  white  face. 

Though  for  months  past  Odille  must  have  looked  upon 
her  father's  death  as  a  question  of  days,  and  could  hardly 
— for  his  own  sake — have  wished  his  life  prolonged,  it 
was  only  natural  she  should  regret  him  deeply.  But  time 
passed  on  till  the  fullest  period  of  filial  mourning  was  ex- 
pired, and  still  the  lady  seemed  unable  to  shake  off  the 
sorrow  that  seldom  allowed  a  smile  to  flicker  on  her  lips 
and  kept  her  eyes  often  heavy  with  tears.  In  her  hus- 
band's presence  she  did,  indeed  force  herself  to  be  cheer- 
ful ;  but  even  to  him — unsuspicious  and  easily  satisfied  as 
he  was — the  effort  was  sometimes  apparent. 


394          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

Yet  Ralph  never  murmured,  even  to  himself,  and  was 
indeed  perfectly  happy  in  his  honest  way.  Action,  and 
some  sort  of  exercise  in  the  open  air,  had  become  part 
and  parcel  of  his  nature.  He  was  Seigneur  of  Hacque- 
mont,  till  any  chose  to  dispute  his  title  ;  and  the  succession 
brought  business  enough  and  to  spare  on  his  hands.  For 
the  fief — though  not  over  wealthy — was  broad,  and  count- 
ed many  scattered  vassals,  with  all  of  whom  Ralph  chose 
to  make  acquaintance  face  to  face.  The  tried  soldier  al- 
ways loves  to  know  on  what  material  he  may  count  in 
case  of  need.  Since  the  warfare  had  grown  desultory, 
the  country  was  not  so  sorely  drained  of  its  youth  and 
manhood ;  and  amongst  the  peasantry  there  were  not  a 
few  rough-hewn  stocks  that  might  easily  be  trimmed  into 
soldierly  shape.  The  choicest  of  these — allured,  partly  by 
large  pay,  partly  by  their  seigneur's  great  renown  in  arms 
— were  easily  persuaded  to  enter  his  immediate  service. 
Once  in  the  castle,  the  training  of  such  went  on  rapidly ; 
so  its  garrison  soon  became  more  formidable  than  that 
of  many  fortresses  thrice  as  important. 

Hawk  and  hound,  too,  Brakespeare  followed  keenly  as 
ever,  though  he  was  fain  to  follow  them  alone,  for,  since 
her  father's  death,  the  Lady  Odille  had  never  felt  strong 
enough  to  go  far  a-field.  One  way  or  another,  he  usually 
found  himself  in  saddle  in  early  morning,  and  was  rarely 
home  much  before  sundown.  He  was  perfectly  content 
if  his  wife  showed  any  interest — to  do  her  justice,  she 
generally  did — in  the  sport  or  business  of  the  day;  and 
in  the  seventh  heaven,  if  she  could  be  persuaded,  after 
supper,  to  take  up  her  lute  and  sing  to  him  some  ditty — 
were  it  ever  so  sad. 

Sometimes,  but  rarely,  Gualtier  de  Marsan  would  take 
his  turn  at  the  viol.  Sickness  had  left  heavy  traces  on  the 
esquire,  and  his  strength  seemed  to  return  very  slowly. 
It  was  with  difficulty  he  forced  himself  to  take  needful 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.         395 

food  and  drink,  and  he  was  equal  to  no  exercise  ;  so  it  was 
no  marvel  if  his  cheeks  still  continued  hollow  and  wan, 
and  if  the  dark  circles  under  his  wistful  eyes  passed  not 
away.  Though  he  and  Lady  Odille  were  thrown  perforce 
much  into  each  other's  company,  they  spoke  but  seldom — 
so  far  as  any  knew — and  then,  concerning  the  most  trivial 
matters.  They  would  sit  for  hours  in  the  presence-cham- 
ber— Odille  in  the  great  oriel,  Gualtier  in  the  recess  of  a 
distant  window — gazing  out  wearily,  with  listless  eyes, 
that  marked  not  a  feature  of  the  landscape  betwixt  them 
and  the  distant  hills. 

The  household  was  made  up  of  ancient  retainers,  and 
others  born  in  the  family  service,  simple,  God-fearing  folk 
as  a  rule,  part  of  whose  creed  it  was  to  honor  their  mas- 
ters and  to  speak  no  evil  of  dignities.  Even  the  spearmen, 
who  had  come  from  beyond  Alps — at  first  from  policy,  or 
awe  of  Brakespeare's  anger,  afterwards  from  habit — had 
fallen  into  the  same  quiet,  hum-drum  ways;  and  in  their 
drink  carried  themselves  decently,  snoring  over  their  li- 
quor if  they  chanced  to  take  a  cup  too  much,  instead  of 
wrangling  or  rowing  over  it  as  heretofore.  The  bat- 
tered, weather-beaten  soudards  had  begun  to  value  aright 
the  comforts  of  chimney-corner  and  roof-bield,  and  had 
lost  all  taste  for  the  perilous  excitement  of  foray  or  bi- 
vouac. They  waxed  lusty,  too,  on  much  sleep  and  large 
provender ;  though  Ralph  was  but  in  jest,  when  he  called 
them  sometimes  "fat,  lazy  knaves,"  there  was  more  truth 
in  the  words  than  he  wist  of.  All  things  considered,  it 
was  scarce  likely  that  any  of  Hacquemont  would  trouble 
themselves  to  spy  updn  their  chatelaine,  much  less  to  cavil 
at  her  ways.  Nevertheless,  one  man  there  watched  the 
aspect  of  matters  with  growing  discontent. 

Under  Lanyon's  rough  exterior  there  were  hidden — as 
may  have  been  seen  in  the  course  of  this  chronicle — cer- 
tain sparks  of  intelligence  and  shrewd  common  sense. 


396          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

Moreover,  his  wits  were  quickened  by  the  incitement  that 
all  others  there  lacked.  He  loved  from  the  very  bottom 
of  his  heart  the  master  he  had  followed  so  long  through 
foul  and  fair  weather,  and  he  cared  for  no  other  created 
thing.  Day  by  day  he  grew  more  sombre  and  taciturn — 
shunning  the  companionship  of  his  gossip  the  warder  and 
repelling  all  social  advances  from  others.  The  routiers 
grumbled  to  each  other  that  their  comrade  had  waxed 
proud  of  stomach  in  his  old  age  and  prone  to  stand  on  his 
dignity  as  body-squire  to  the  lord  of  Hacquemont.  Noth- 
ing could  be  further  from  the  truth.  Lanyon  thought  just 
as  humbly  of  his  own  merits,  and  was  just  as  little  likely 
to  exact  more  respect  from  others  than  is  due  from  man 
to  man,  as  he  was  on  the  morning  when  he  followed 
Ralph  out  of  Sir  Simon  Dynevor's  presence.  But  he  was 
weighed  down  by  suspicions  he  could  not  away  with — 
by  a  secret  that  was  none  of  his  own  seeking,  of  which  he 
could  not  unburthen  himself. 

Thoroughly  dauntless  by  nature  and  hardened  by  inces- 
sant training,  the  esquire  would  have  faced  almost  any 
peril  to  which  mortal  flesh  is  liable,  without  the  quicken- 
ing of  a  pulse  or  the  quivering  of  a  nerve.  From  one  thing 
he  would  have  shrunk,  as  a  girl  might  shrink  from  the 
first  sight  of  bloodshed.  That  thing  was — the  hinting  to 
Sir  Ralph  Brakespeare  a  doubt  of  his  wife's  purity.  So 
he  kept  silence,  growling  under  his  breath,  grinding  his 
teeth,  and  snarling  on  occasion  like  a  chafed  wolf;  and 
there  was  the  wolfish  glare  in  his  small  keen  eyes  as  they 
lighted  on  De  Marsan,  toward  whom  his  manner  was  at 
times  blunt,  even  to  rudeness.  These  signs  of  his  dislike 
could  scarce  always  have  escaped  the  object  thereof,  but 
if  Gualtier  noticed,  he  did  not  seem  to  heed  them.  When 
the  other's  bearing  was  unusually  churlish,  the  younger 
esquire  would  open  his  great  sad  eyes  a  little  with  a  look 
of  languid  wonder  and  let  the  lids  droop  again  as  he  fell 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  397 

back  into  his  reverie.  Graver  matters,  clearly,  were  busy- 
ing his  thoughts  than  an  old  routier's  fits  of  evil  temper. 

All  this  while,  Philippe  de  Hacquemont's  prophecies 
seemed  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  to  their  fulfilment. 

When  the  message  came  to  Windsor  from  the  faithful 
Poitevins  beleagured  in  Thouars,  after  one  long  fit  of 
despondency,  King  Edward  rose  up  in  ire,  and  swore  a 
great  oath,  that  long  before  the  day  appointed — failing 
his  rescue — for  the  town's  surrender,  he  would  succor 
them  with  such  armament  as  never  yet  had  set  foot  on 
the  shores  of  France.  Thus  far  Ralph  Brakespeare,  too, 
had  been  right  in  his  auguries.  The  arriereban  went 
through  every  nook  and  corner  of  England  from  the 
Tweed  to  the  Tamar,  and  drew  together  four  thousand 
lances  and  twenty  thousand  archers,  for  whom  four  hun- 
dred transports  waited  in  Southampton  water. 

Scarce  one  of  the  names  then  famous  in  our  realm  for 
valor,  wisdom,  power,  or  pure  lineage,  was  absent  from 
that  muster-roll.  The  Black  Prince  roused  himself  from 
the  apathy  of  long  sickness ;  and — having  first  set  his 
house  in  order,  and  disposed  all  things  for  his  son's  suc- 
cession— dragged  himself  on  shipboard,  though  his 
shrunken  limbs  were  scarce  fit  to  bear  harness.  And  the 
great  armament  set  forth. 

But  the  stars,  in  their  courses,  fought  against  King 
Edward.  For  nine  weary  weeks  the  fleet  did  battle  with 
wind  and  waves,  weltering  to  and  fro — sometimes  within 
sight  of  Breton  cliffs,  sometimes  driven  far  back  again  to 
the  westward — but  never  fairly  weathering  Ouissant  Isle ; 
much  less  nearing  Rochelle,  the  port  for  which  they  were 
bound.  At  the  last  provision  began  to  fail;  and  King 
Edward  was  fain  to  put  about,  and  steer  again  for  his  own 
land,  crying  out — so  the  chroniclers  say — in  the  bitterness 
of  his  discomfiture : 

"Never  was  King  who  had  drawn  sword  so  seldom,  and 


398          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

yet  proved  so  stubborn  a  foe,  as  Charles  of  France." 

So  those  in  Thouars  were  left  to  their  fate,  which  was 
soon  decided,  in  this  wise. 

About  the  time  of  the  sailing  of  the  English  fleet, 
Thomas  Felton,  Seneschal  of  Bordeaux,  and  Archibald  de 
Grailly,  uncle  of  the  Captal  de  Buch,  had  mustered  some 
three  hundred  lances,  who  marched  northwards  to  Niort, 
and  found  there  encamped  many,  both  of  Gascony  and 
Bretagne.  The  united  forces  made  up  a  formidable  army. 
From  these  captains  word  was  sent  to  Thouars,  that  of 
King  Edward's  presence  in  person  there  now  seemed  faint 
hope ;  but  that  they,  at  any  rate,  were  willing  to  strike  in 
and  aid  to  the  uttermost  of  their  power.  Then  ensued  in 
Thouars  sharp  debate — albeit  it  was  debate  of  one  against 
many — for  stout  John  de  Parthenay  stood  well-nigh  alone 
in  his  sentence ;  "that,  whether  their  suzerain  came  to  the 
rescue  or  no,  it  behoved  them  to  fight  it  out  to  the  last." 
The  others  alleged  with  much  show  of  reason  that  by  the 
terms  of  their  covenant — failing  succor  from  England  by 
some  one  of  the  royal  blood — they  were  bounden  to  render 
the  town  and  once  more  pledge  fealty  to  France. 

The  voice  of  the  many  prevailed.  On  the  eve  of 
Michaelmas  Day,  those  who  watched  from  the  towers  saw 
the  flaunt  of  many  pennons ;  but  amongst  them  the  stan- 
dard of  England  was  not  found.  They  were  the  ensigns 
of  a  great  host — led  by  the  Dukes  of  Berry,  Bourbon, 
Burgundy,  and  Du  Guesclin — coming  to  claim  fulfilment 
of  their  contract.  On  the  next  day,  the  Lilies  floated 
again  over  nearly  the  last  stronghold  of  England  in 
Poitou. 

Thenceforward  the  tide  of  warfare  seems  never  to  have 
turned.  The  great  Constable  roved  hither  and  thither 
with  a  thousand  lances  at  his  back,  reducing  one  after 
another  all  such  towns  and  castles  as  still  maintained  a 
show  of  fealty  to  the  Red  Cross.  John  of  Montfort  him- 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.          399 

self — faithful  in  either  fortune  to  the  ally  who  had  loaded 
him  with  benefits — was  forced  to  flee  from  his  duchy  of 
Brittany  to  seek  refuge  beyond  seas.  And  soon  it  came  to 
pass  that  Charles  the  Wise  could  fairly  call  his  own  all 
the  territory  lying  betwixt  Seine  and  Garonne. 

Now  of  all  these  things,  Ralph,  Seigneur  of  Hacque- 
mont,  was  duly  informed  by  scouts  or  otherwise.  He  lay 
too  far  inland  to  be  within  reach  of  summons  when  Grailly 
and  Felton  mustered  their  lances  at  Bordeaux ;  so  that  he 
had  not  been  forced  as  yet  to  declare  himself  for  either 
side,  but  he  wist  right  well,  that  the  question  could  not  be 
staved  off  much  longer.  Indeed,  it  was  seldom  absent 
from  his  mind  now.  His  inclination  still  set  the  other 
way ;  yet  he  was  cool  and  wary  enough  to  recognize  that 
open  rebellion  might  soon  become  absolute  madness — 
nay,  that  even  delay  might  be  dangerous. 

Whilst  he  thus  halted  betwixt  two  opinions  the  autumn 
came  round  in  which  Thouars  fell. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

ALONE. 

N  A  certain  October  morning,  the  Lord  of 
Hacquemont's  horses  waited  without  the  barbi- 
can. Most  indeed,  in  the  castle,  thought  their 
lord  had  already  ridden  forth ;  but  Ralph  had 
suddenly  bethought  him  of  some  repairs  needed  in  divers 
parts  of  the  walls  and  battlements ;  and,  as  he  was  to  ride 
near  where  the  masons  dwelt,  he  determined  to  visit  these 
before  getting  to  saddle.  Looking  at  the  state  of  his 
defenses  and  remembering  how  soon  they  might  be 
needed  brought  his  thoughts  naturally  into  the  channel  in 
which  they  had  run  often  of  late.  He  soon  fell  a-musing 
earnestly ;  and,  scarce  knowing  what  he  did,  entered  one 
of  the  small  jutting  tour  dies,  and  sat  down  there.  The 
weather  was  close  and  sultry,  and  the  half-drowse  into 
which  deep  reveries  often  merge,  was  stealing  over  him, 
when  he  was  roused  by  the  sound  of  voices,  drawing 
nearer  and  nearer  till  they  came  close.  It  was  manifest 
the  speakers  had  halted ;  and  were  leaning  over  the  battle- 
ments within  a  pace  or  two  of  Ralph's  shoulder.  The 
entrance  to  the  tourelle  was  so  narrow  that  none,  unless 
standing  exactly  in  front,  would  guess  at  the  presence  of 
any  withinside. 

Never  once,  since  the  night  he  passed  at  the  convent  of 
La  Melleuraye,  had  the  Free  Companion  played  the  eaves- 
dropper. His  first  impulse  now  was  to  rise  and  discover 
himself  instantly;  but  the  words  that  smote  his  ear 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.          401 

chained  him  where  he  sat,  motionless  and  helpless  as  one 
over  whose  sleeping  head  a  Hand  of  Glory  has  been 
waved.  They  were  uttered  in  the  soft,  rich  tones  of 
Gualtier  de  Marsan. 

"Nay,  dear  and  gentle  lady,  make  not,  for  very  pity's 
sake,  my  task  harder  than  I  have  set  it  to  myself.  Well 
ye  wot  that  if  ye  forbid  me  to  depart  I  needs  must  tarry 
here — whatsoever  the  agony  I  shall  abye.  If  it  please 
you  to  drain  my  heart's  blood  slowly,  I  begrudge  not,  God 
knoweth,  a  drop  thereof.  Nevertheless,  once  again  I  say, 
have  mercy,  and  bid  me  go  forth." 

There  was  a  sound  as  of  a  smothered  sob ;  then  another 
voice  spoke.  The  listener  within  knew  it  very  well.  It 
had  sung  him  to  sleep  many  years  ago  when  the  fever  of 
his  sore  wound  made  him  restless ;  it  had  spoken  the 
words  of  troth-plight,  without  faltering,  before  the  chapel- 
altar  yonder ;  but  it  had  never  sounded  so  strangely  sweet 
as  now. 

"It  is  you  who  are  cruel,  Gualtier ;  not  I.  Life  here  is 
dreary — sometimes  almost  too  dreary  to  bear — but  how 
thinkest  thou  will  it  fare  with  me  when  I  am  alone — quite 
alone  ?  Ah  me !  I  trust  the  masses  said  for  his  soul  have 
assoilzied  my  dead  father  for  having  tempted  me  to  mortal 
sin  and  given  hand  without  heart.  My  penance,  at  least 
endures,  and  will  endure,  so  long  as  my  husband  and  I 
shall  live.  Wife's  duty  I  have  ever  rendered ;  but  wife's 
love,  I  never  can.  And  he  is  so  good,  and  brave,  and 
generous — so  true,  and  so  sure  of  my  truth — I  grow  half 
wild  sometimes  with  remorse  and  shame.  I  shall  madden 
quite  if  I  be  left  alone  with  my  thoughts.  Mon  doux  ami; 
tell  me,  at  least,  what  hath  prompted  this  sudden  resolve 
of  yours?" 

The  round  music  had  died  out  of  De  Marsan's  tones; 
they  sounded  hard  and  hoarse  now,  as  those  of  a  man 
wrestling  with  sharp  bodily  pain. 


402          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

"It  is  because  my  heart  waxeth  weaker,  as  my  body 
waxeth  stronger.  Tis  but  lately,  since  the  fever  left  me, 
that  my  pulse  hath  begun  to  beat ;  and  now  I  may  not 
endure  to  look  on  things,  that  erstwhile  I  saw  like  one  in 
a  dream.  Ah !  gracious  lady — you  and  the  holy  saints 
know  that  never,  till  this  day,  hath  word  or  salute  passed 
betwixt  us,  but  such  as  may  become  our  several  stations — 
nay,  such  as  my  lord  your  husband,  himself,  might  ap- 
prove. And,  in  my  very  conscience,  I  believe  that  I  have 
spoken  no  more  than  is  needful  now.  But  when  the  blood 
boils,  the  brain  whirls ;  neither  may  I  answer  for  what 
might  ensue.  If  no  worse  befall,  I  might  undergo  your 
displeasure,  and  be  fain  to  depart  in  bitterness.  Thus 
far,  under  sharp  trial,  I  have  held  fast  to  my  duty  and 
mine  honor;  ere  I  lose  such  cold  comfort,  it  is  best  I  go 
forth.  My  kinsman  of  Montauban,  waits  for  me  even 
now.  There  will  be  sharp  work  a-doing  ere  long  in 
Guienne ;  and,  even  if  death  come  not  quickly,  there  is  no 
medicine  for  the  wrung  heart  like  the  shivering  of  lances." 

"Death" — Odille  said  very  wearily — "Death  cometh  not 
at  our  times  and  seasons.  Better  perchance  had  it  been 
for  us  all  hadst  thou  never  risen  from  that  sick  bed  yonder. 
But,  Gualtier,  I  hinder  thee  no  more.  We  will  part,  as 
thou  sayest,  whilst  neither  conscience  carries  aught  that 
need  shame  us  at  confession.  If  God  will  that  we  suffer 
long,  He  will  perchance  give  strength  to  endure.  We  will 
speak  of  these  things  anon.  Help  me  to  my  chamber 
now.  I  am  so  faint  that  I  fear  to  swoon." 

Slowly,  without  a  glance  withinside,  the  two  passed  the 
entry  of  the  turret ;  and  Ralph  was  left  alone. 

Alone — yes — alone  forever  more  now — more  lonely 
than  when,  a  while  back,  he  found  the  heritage  of  his 
fathers  in  the  hands  of  a  stranger  and  no  welcome  in  the 
eyes  of  the  woman  who  nursed  him.  Alone — without 
hope  that  the  curse  of  loneliness  would  be  lifted  this  side 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.          403 

of  the  grave !  for  the  wife  to  whom  he  had  given  his  large, 
honest  love,  if  she  had  not  proved  unworthy  of  the  trust, 
felt  it,  at  the  best,  an  irksome  burden — to  be  borne  in 
patience  till  Heaven,  in  its  mercy,  should  see  fit  to  lighten 
her  thereof.  Only  then  did  he  realize  what  had  been  the 
happiness  of  these  months  past ;  a  deep,  quiet,  happiness — 
no  more  resembling  the  fierce  fever  fit  that  had  possessed 
him  at  La  Roche  Dagon  than  does  the  red  gleam  piercing 
through  the  rift  of  storm-clouds  a  bright,  calm,  summer's 
day.  There  was  no  taint  at  least  on  Odille's  honor,  or 
his  own ;  and  she  had  called  him  "good,  generous,  and 
true."  There  was  some  comfort  in  that ;  nevertheless,  the 
strong  soldier  shivered  from  head  to  heel  as  he  rose, 
blinking  dizzily  as  he  passed  out  into  the  light,  like  one 
lately  smitten  with  sunstroke. 

It  so  chanced  that  Ralph  encountered  none  of  his  house- 
hold on  his  way  to  the  barbican  without  which  Lanyon 
waited  for  him  with  their  horses.  One  glance  at  his 
lord's  countenance  turned  the  esquire  more  sick  with  fear, 
than  when,  far  out  in  the  deep  sea,  he  heard  that  the 
other's  strength  was  failing ;  but  he  asked  never  a  ques- 
tion either  then  or  thereafter. 

Ralph  flung  himself  into  the  saddle  without  a  word; 
and  rode  furiously  down  the  steep  descent  and  half  a 
league  further  into  the  wood  before  he  drew  rein.  Then 
he  fell  into  a  walk  and  wandered  on  through  a  by-road — 
seemingly  without  aim  or  purpose,  and  not  knowing  that 
he  was  followed,  for,  when  wheeling  about  suddenly,  as 
from  some  fresh  impulse,  he  came  face  to  face  with 
Lanyon,  he  started  in  a  sort  of  surprise. 

"Art  thou  there?"  he  said.  "Mayhap  thou  canst  tell 
me  on  what  business  we  came  forth ;  it  hath  slipped  my 
brain." 

It  was  a  second  or  two  before  the  esquire  could  get  rid 
of  a  choking  lump  in  his  throat 


404          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

"Nay,  I  wot  not" — he  said  gruffly — "unless  it  had 
somewhat  to  do  with  the  repairing  of  the  defenses  up 
yonder." 

At  the  word,  there  came  over  Ralph  of  Hacquemont's 
ghastly  face  a  light,  something  akin  to  the  old  light  of 
battle. 

"Defenses" — he  muttered.  "By  God's  body!  it  was 
even  so.  They  may  be  proved  ere  long.  Do  thou  ride 
down  and  bid  the  knave  masons  get  to  work  betimes  to- 
morrow ;  as  for  me  I  will  hie  back  straight  to  the  castle.  I 
am  strangely  ill  at  ease  to-day ;  but  the  chapellan  is  leech 
enow  to  cure  me  with  bloodletting." 

Then,  turning  bridle,  the  knight  rode  off  at  speed,  leav- 
ing Lanyon  utterly  aghast. 

"His  eyes  are  open  then — whether  for  the  better  or  the 
worse,  God  knoweth.  I  would  avouch  our  lady  free  from 
sin ;  yet  mayhap,  that  will  not  save  yonder  springald's 
white  neck  from  the  twisting." 

Thus  muttering,  the  esquire  went  his  way  to  do  his 
lord's  bidding. 

On  that  day,  one  of  those  rare  conjunctions  of  time  and 
circumstance  that  mere  chance  can  hardly  bring  about, 
befell  at  Hacquemont.  As  Ralph  turned  the  last  corner 
of  the  ascent,  he  caught  the  glimmer  of  steel  through  the 
trees,  and  found  the  plateau  under  the  barbican  occupied 
by  a  clump  of  spears,  sitting  in  saddle  before  the  raised 
drawbridge.  The  leader  of  the  party  rode  out,  and  with 
all  reverence  delivered  a  sealed  parchment. 

"I  will  pray  your  seigneurie — for  I  guess  that  I  speak 
to  none  other  than  the  lord  of  Hacquemont — to  peruse 
this  at  your  leisure ;  and  then  to  give  me  mine  answer, 
which  I  am  bidden  to  bear  back  at  speed  to  my  good  lord, 
the  High  Constable." 

From  mere  force  of  habit,  Ralph's  self-command  re- 
turned when  need  was  urgent.  His  manner  was  quite 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.          405 

calm  and  courteous  as  he  prayed  the  French  knight  to 
enter  and  refresh  himself  and  his  following  whilst  the 
letter  was  a-reading. 

"I  must  trust  to  my  chapellan  to  interpret  it." — he  said, 
with  a  half  smile  ;  "I  am  so  poor  a  scholar." 

But  the  other  declined,  with  duteous  thanks,  saying, 
that  he  was  straitly  charged  to  bear  back  the  answer  with- 
out breaking  bread  at  Hacquemont,  or  even  quitting 
saddle. 

The  missive  was  very  brief.  It  required  Ralph,  self- 
styled  lord  of  Hacquemont,  to  present  himself  forthwith 
at  Poitiers,  with  sufficient  following ;  ready  to  serve  under 
Bertrand  du  Guesclin's  banner  wheresoever  he  should 
direct.  It  further  set  forth  that,  in  case  of  such  submis- 
sion, and  considering  Sir  Ralph  Brakespeare's  high  re- 
nown in  arms,  King  Charles  would  be  pleased  to  accept 
his  homage,  and  confirm  him  in  his  fief  and  honors ;  but, 
failing  this,  he  was  bidden  to  make  ready  to  defend  him- 
self a  entrance — expecting  no  better  terms  than  are  dealt 
to  obstinate  traitors. 

Ralph  took  the  parchment  from  the  chapellan,  when 
the  other  had  finished  reading ;  and,  holding  it  in  his  hand, 
paced  to  and  fro  through  the  presence-chamber,  as  was 
his  wont  when  deep  in  thought.  The  first  stunning  effect 
of  the  blow  that  had  stricken  him  that  morning  had  passed 
away;  and  he  was  now  able  to  weigh  matters  without 
passion,  if  not  without  bitterness. 

Lo!  the  time  had  come  whereof  he  and  Philippe  de 
Hacquemont  had  spoken  together.  What  had  he  promised 
then,  when  both  had  agreed  that  to  hold  a  solitary  castle 
for  King  Edward  would  be  no  better  than  madness  ?  This 
was  the  season  at  which  he  had  prayed  the  saint  to  guide 
his  judgment  aright ;  he  had  promised  too,  at  whatsoever 
constraint  to  himself,  to  provide  for  Odille's  welfare.  Why 
should  not  that  promise  be  kept  to  the  letter,  even  if  wise 


406          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

saws  and  proverbs  of  expediency  were  cast  to  the  winds  ? 
Would  it  not  be  indeed  for  her  good,  if  she  were  set  free' 
once  more, — free  to  bestow  her  love  where  she  would, 
without  sin  or  shame?     The  strong  man's  heart  waxed 
for  an  instant  very  weak  and  faint,  as  it  answered,  yea. 

For  himself,  there  would  be  left  another  brave  bout  at 
sword-play  like  those  of  old  times ;  and  then — a  long 
sleep.  He  had  had  enow  of  French  alliances — enow  of 
their  fair  faces  and  fair  words.  He  couched  his  first  lance 
under  the  old  Red  Cross,  and  he  would  die  under  it 
after  all. 

His  mind  was  soon  made  up ;  leaning  over  the  chapel- 
lan's  shoulder,  he  bade  the  other  indite  as  follows  : 

My  Lord  Constable. 

I  thank,  as  is  most  due,  for  your  gracious  proffers  both 
yourself  and  the  puissant  king  whom  you  serve;  never- 
theless, I  may  not  accept  them,  neither  render  myself  to 
your  bidding.  In  England  I  was  born  and  bred;  for 
many  a  year  I  took  King  Edward's  pay,  and  from  the 
hand  of  the  Prince  his  son,  received  I  the  accolade; 
wherefore  it  comporteth  not  with  mine  honor  to  bear  arms 
against  him  notv.  So  I  purpose  to  maintain  myself  here 
to  the  uttermost  of  my  poor  power,  and,  when  that  is 
spent,  to  betake  myself  to  God's  mercy,  expecting  none 
from  man. 

Ralph  Brakespeare. 

Given  at  our  castle  at  Hacquemont 
this  Martinmas  Eve. 

This  missive  Ralph  himself  placed  in  the  hands  of  the 
French  knight,  who,  with  all  formal  courtesy,  presently 
took  his  leave. 

By  this  time,  as  may  be  imagined,  all  in  the  castle  were 
astir ;  and,  as  he  paced  back  through  the  courtyard,  not  a 
few  peered  anxiously  in  their  lord's  face,  striving  to  dis- 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  407 

cern  therein  some  sign  from  which  they  might  draw 
augury  as  to  the  nature  of  the  message  brought  thither, 
and  the  answer  thereto.  But  that  face  told  no  tales,  and, 
as  none  dared  to  question  the  chapellan — who,  indeed,  was 
bound  to  secrecy — the  household  were  fain  to  devour  their 
curiosity  as  best  they  might. 

As  for  Ralph  himself — he  was  possessed  now  with  the 
sense  of  rest,  of  one  who,  having  been  tossed  about  hither 
and  thither  on  a  sea  of  doubts,  anchors  at  last  on  a  firm 
resolve.  His  brow  bore  no  trace  either  of  anger  or  pain 
when  he  joined  Odille  in  her  chamber,  and  his  voice  was 
quite  steady  whilst  he  said  his  say. 

It  was  brief  enough.  He  told  her  that  he  had  been 
summoned  to  Poitiers,  there  to  render  homage  and  accept 
service  under  the  Constable,  with  promise  of  renewal  of 
his  fief ;  but  certain  conditions  were  attached  thereto,  with 
which  he  could  not  in  honor  comply  without  some  debate, 
unless  compelled  thereto  by  force  of  arms.  It  was  possible 
Hacquemont  might  be  beleaguered  ere  long.  He  doubted 
not  to  obtain  fair  terms  of  surrender,  in  such  siege,  with 
small  danger  to  life  or  limb  of  any  therein ;  but,  for  many 
reasons,  Odille  and  her  maidens  were  best  elsewhere  for 
the  present.  So  he  had  determined  they  should  leave  early 
on  the  morrow  for  Bordeaux,  under  sufficient  escort, 
headed  by  De  Marsan  and  Lanyon. 

Now  the  lady  Odille,  though  perchance  too  weak  to  be 
quite  sincere,  was  a  pure,  pious  woman ;  and,  after  her 
own  light,  did  her  duty.  But  she  had  hard  work  to  re- 
press a  thrill  of  guilty  pleasure  as  she  listened ;  and  could 
not  keep  back  the  treacherous  flush  that  mounted  even  to 
her  smooth,  white  forehead.  Nevertheless,  she  did  con- 
trive, in  duteous  phrase,  to  set  forth  her  willingness  to 
bide  with  her  husband  and  share  his  perils  to  the  last ; 
nay,  she  even  prayed,  with  some  urgency,  that  she  might 
not  be  driven  from  his  side.  Years  and  years  after,  she 


4o8          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

remembered  how  sadly  Ralph  smiled,  as  he  answered — 
stroking  the  braids  of  her  dark,  smooth  hair  with  his 
broad  palm — 

"Nay,  nay,  sweetheart ;  think  not  to  change  my  resolve. 
It  is  best  so,  trust  me.  'Tis  a  long  journey  for  thee,  spe- 
cially since  thou  hast  been  of  late  seldom  in  saddle ;  but  I 
think  thou  art  stronger  than  thou  fanciest ;  and  in  Bor- 
deaux thou  wilt  be  tenderly  cared  for.  In  these  troublous 
times,  with  so  many  routiers  abroad,  even  convents  are 
scarce  safe  quarters ;  else  would  I  house  thee  with  the 
Abbess  thy  kinswoman.  Bid  thy  tiring-women  make 
ready  their  mails.  An'  thou  wilt  be  guided  by  me,  thou 
wilt  keep  thy  chamber ;  and  take  what  rest  thou  canst 
before  morning.  Be  not  wakeful  to  watch  for  me.  It 
may  be  late  ere  I  lie  down  to  s1eep ;  there  is  much  to  order 
within  doors  and  without." 

So  Ralph  departed,  leaving  his  wife  in  a  bewilderment 
of  wonder,  self-reproach,  and  fear — in  which  were 
mingled,  as  was  aforesaid,  some  throbs  of  guilty  joy — 
which  at  last  relieved  itself  in  a  passionate  burst  of  weep- 
ing. 

By  this  time  Lanyon  had  returned;  and  was  presently 
summoned  to  his  lord's  presence.  As  the  eyes  of  the 
two  men  met,  Ralph  knew  that  it  would  be  vain  to  dis- 
semble here.  Without  any  preamble,  he  told  the  other 
the  contents  of  the  Constable's  letter. 

"What  thinkest  I  answered— ha  ?" 

"Not  words  of  peace,  I  wot!" — the  esquire  replied 
bluntly.  "Marry!  had  the  Frenchman  come  yester-even, 
your  lordship  might  have  pondered  longer  over  the  mat- 
ter; but  men  indite  not  courtly  periods,  bearing  such  a 
brow  as  was  thine  when  we  parted.  Perchance  it  is  as 
well." 

"It  is  best" — Ralph  said,  setting  his  lips.  "If  thou 
canst  guess  at  what  chafed  my  humor  to-day,  breathe  it 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE-.  409 

not  even  to  thyself,  I  charge  thee.  Now  hearken  dili- 
gently. This  is  what  thou  must  do." 

Lanyon  received  with  mute  attention  all  the  directions 
concerning  the  escort  whereof  he  was  to  have  the  chief 
charge.  When  all  was  ended,  he  advanced ;  and,  with  his 
wonted  slow  deliberation,  kneeled  down,  resting  both 
hands  on  Brakespeare's  knee. 

"My  lord  Sir  Ralph" — he  said — "I  have  followed  you 
faithfully,  and  performed  your  bidding — whether  for  good 
or  evil — for  hard  on  thirty  years,  receiving  my  wages 
duly,  but  never  having  once  craved  favor  at  your  hands ; 
albeit,  if  I  mistake  not,  it  hath  been  my  luck  more  than 
once  to  stand  betwixt  you  and  death.  Lo !  now  I  crave — 
not  as  a  right,  but  humbly,  on  bended  knee — that  you  will 
suffer  me  to  bide  here  with  you  and  take  my  chance  with 
yourself  under  shield,  rather  than  send  me  forth  on  duty 
for  which  any  minion  page  might  suffice — ay,  even  such  a 
gay  dameret,  as  yon  Gualtier  de  Marsan." 

Ralph  gripped  his  squire's  shoulder  hard.  If  his  words 
were  rough,  his  eyes  were  kind  even  to  tenderness. 

"Rise  up,  fool" — he  said.  "Art  not  grown  wiser  since 
— near  a  score  of  years  agone, — thou  didst  cumber  me 
with  scruples  in  this  very  chamber?  Thou  hast  spoken 
sooth ;  through  thy  long  true  service  thou  hast  had  little 
guerdon  beyond  thy  full  share  of  hard  blows.  God  wot, 
I  begrudge  not  this  now.  I  swear  by  mine  honor  that  I 
have  no  mind  thou  should'st  be  absent  when  work  is  a 
doing  here.  When  thou  hast  bestowed  thy  lady  safe  at 
Bordeaux  and  delivered  a  certain  letter,  thou  mayest  re- 
turn as  quickly  as  thou  wilt,  and  spare  not  for  the  spoiling 
of  horseflesh.  Even  if  the  Constable  be  the  hawk  men 
bespeak  him,  he  needs  must  circle  ere  he  swoop.  Should 
we  be  beset  ere  thy  return,  their  lines  will  sure  be  drawn 
on  the  hither  side  of  the  secret  issue.  'Twill  be  easy  to 
worm  thy  way  through  the  brushwood,  and  one  within 


410         -THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

shall  listen  night  and  day  for  thy  knock.  Art  thou  con- 
tent?" 

Lanyon  almost  laughed  aloud  as  he  sprang  lightsomely 
to  his  feet. 

"Yea ;  more  than  content.  I  thank  your  lordship 
heartily ;  dolt  indeed  was  I,  to  have  mistrusted  your  good 
will.  Now  will  I  about  the  ordering  of  this  gear  in- 
stantly, and  ye  will  give  me  the  roll  of  such  as  are  to  ride 
forth  to-morrow." 

"That  is  soon  done" — Brakespeare  replied.  And  he 
proceeded  to  check  off  from  the  roll  of  the  garrison  near 
a  score  of  names — including  nearly  all  the  special  re- 
tainers, young  and  old,  who  had  been  bred  in  the  actual 
house-service  of  Hacquemont.  '  'Twill  not  weaken  us 
much  to  lose  these" — Ralph  muttered,  as  he  finished  his 
task — "and,  be  we  ever  so  well  victualed,  we  need  feed  no 
useless  mouths." 

The  esquire  nodded  his  head,  assentingly,  with  a  surly 
smile. 

"'I  am  glad  to  see  your  lordship  hath  not  set  down 
my  gossip  Gilles ;  'twere  hard  measure  indeed  to  rack  his 
creaking  joints  in  saddle.  Though  he  hath  few  teeth  left, 
I  will  warrant  him  to  show  sport  yet,  if  he  fight  from  his 
kennel." 

All  that  afternoon  Ralph  spent  in  directing  necessary 
preparations,  within  and  without  the  walls,  including  the 
repairs  for  all  warlike  engines  and  laying  down  lines  for 
new.  He  had  scant  appetite  at  supper,  yet  he  forced  him- 
self to  take  some  food  and  drink.  Then,  after  a  brief  visit 
to  Odille's  apartment,  and  seeing  that  she  had  betaken 
herself  to  rest,  he  shut  himself  up  alone  in  the  presence- 
chamber.  He  had  another  hard  task  to  perform  before  he 
thought  of  sleep. 

Hard — in  more  ways  than  one.  Ralph  Brakespeare, 
even  in  early  youth,  had  possessed  but  poor  clerkly  skill, 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.          411 

and  this,  through  long  disuse,  had  grown  rusty,  till  it  be- 
came a  toil  to  scrawl  the  hieroglyphic  that  stood  for  his 
signature.  Yet  now  he  had  to  write  certain  lines  that  he 
dared  indite  to  none,  and  which  yet  must  be  made  plain 
enough  to  be  read  some  day. 

In  all  great  sorrows  and  agonies — even  in  the  tortures 
of  the  damned,  if  Dante  saw  aright — something  of  the 
grotesque  mingles.  If  one's  heart  were  in  the  work, 
there  would  be  no  fitter  subject  for  caricature,  than  a  face 
blurred  and  deformed  by  weeping.  Many  would  scarce 
have  refrained  a  smile,  had  they  watched  the  painful  effort 
that  it  cost  the  Free  Companion  to  form  character  after 
character,  with  his  stiff,  unpractised  fingers.  His  brows 
ached  and  throbbed  from  very  weariness,  long  before  the 
work  was  complete ;  but  it  was  done  at  last,  and  the  letter, 
rendered  from  the  Norman-French,  ran  thus : 

Dear  Lady  and  Wife: 

When  first  thine  honorable  father,  now  at  rest,  un- 
folded to  me  his  designs  concerning  us  twain,  1  did  ear- 
nestly object  mine  own  unzvorthiness — saying  that  one  of 
my  nurture  and  training,  to  say  nought  of  my  years,  ivas 
no  fitting  mate  for  so  delicate  a  dame.  When  my  lord 
•waxed  urgent,  and  would  in  no  wise  be  gainsaid,  I  re- 
quired of  him  a  promise,  that  on  thine  inclinations  should 
be  put  no  force;  binding  myself  to  accept  denial  in  all 
patience  and  humility.  So  I  departed  on  my  journey, 
hoping  no  more  for  favorable  answer  at  my  return,  than 
for  any  other  bounteous  miracle.  When  I  came  hither, 
my  good  lord  straightly  affirmed,  that,  having  not  at  all 
strained  his  authority  or  unduly  swayed  thy  will,  he  had 
found  thee  nothing  loath,  but  rather  well-disposed  towards 
such  espousal.  On  this  relying,  I  spake,  and  was  an- 
swered. The  error  was  grievous  doubtless,  yet  sure  I  am 
it  was  not  wrought  wittingly.  Wherefore  I  pray  thee  lay 


412          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

not  heavy  blame  either  on  thy  father's  memory  or  mine, 
for  when  thou  shalt  peruse  these  words,  I  shall  be  even 
as  he.  Much  has  been  made  clear  to  me  since  this  fore- 
noon, when  I  chanced  to  overhear  converse  betwixt  thee 
and  the  Sieur  de  Marsan.  Not  of  aforethought,  as  thou 
wilt  well  believe,  did  I  play  the  spy.  I  sat  a  musing  in 
the  tourelle  by  which  ye  two  halted,  and  the  first  words 
so  struck  my  spirits,  that  for  awhile  I  was  like  one  in  a 
trance,  who  with  eyes  and  ears  open  cannot  stir  finger. 
Some  bitter  truths  I  heard,  yet  I  heard  also  that  Messire 
Gualtier  under  sore  temptation,  how  sore,  dear,  none 
know  better  than  I,  hath  borne  himself  in  chaste  and  loyal 
fashion,  neither  failing  in  reverence  due  to  thee,  nor  con- 
tributing against  mine  honor.  Wherefore  I  hold  him 
blameless,  and  I  here  aver  that,  if  at  fitting  season  thou 
shouldst  deign  to  grace  him  with  thine  hand,  ye  need 
never  be  kept  apart  for  conscience-sake  or  mine.  In 
proof  whereof  I  commit  thee  to  that  esquire  his  escort  to- 
morrow without  doubt  or  fear. 

For  me,  my  time  must  needs  be  short.  Du  Guesclin, 
the  Constable,  underlieth  my  cartel,  and  he  ^viU  answer 
it  ere  long  perchance  in  his  proper  person.  I  purpose  to 
hold  this  place  a  outrance,  and  when  it  shall  be  forced  to 
take  no  quarter,  so  I  am  not  like  to  trouble  thee  more. 
The  good  merchant,  who  will  deliver  thee  this  letter,  in 
whom  also  my  lord  thy  father  greatly  trusted,  hath  monies 
enow  to  provide  for  thine  honorable  maintenance  till, 
either  as  widoiv  or  wife — thou  are  brought  back  hither. 

Ma  douce  amie,  for  thy  duteous  kindness,  which  hath 
made  my  life  of  late  blessed  beyond  my  deserts,  may  God 
requite  thee,  and  keep  thee  ever  in  his  holy  guard.  And 
so  I  bid  thee  heartily  fare^velL 

Thy  loving  husband  and  true  servitor  till  death, 

Ralph  Brakespeare. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCK.          413 

The  letter  was  duly  addressed  and  sealed,  and  then 
wrapped  in  an  outer  square  of  parchment,  in  the  within 
side  of  which  the  knight  made  shift  to  trace  a  few  more 
lines  with  his  cramped  fingers.  After  adding  the  super- 
scription, he  closed  the  packet,  carefully  thrusting  it  into 
the  breast  of  his  doublet. 

This  was  so  long  in  doing  that  it  was  past  midnight 
when  he  sought  his  sleeping  chamber.  Despite  his  great 
weight  and  size,  the  Free  Companion  could  tread  lightly 
as  a  girl  when  he  chose ;  and  he  entered  so  softly  that 
Odille's  slumbers  were  not  broken.  She  looked  exceed- 
ing fair — fairer,  Ralph  thought,  than  he  had  ever  seen 
her,  with  her  head  nestling  on  her  arm,  whilst  the  rich 
dark  hair  half  shaded  one  flushed  cheek.  There  was  a 
half  smile  on  her  lips,  though  a  tear  or  two,  clinging  to 
her  long  eye-lashes,  showed  that  her  dreams  had  not  been 
joyous.  Setting  down  the  lamp  he  carried,  and  still  tread- 
ing very  softly,  Ralph  drew  nearer  and  nearer  till  he 
knelt  down  by  the  couch ;  and  so  remained — resting  his 
chin  on  his  clasped  hand,  and  gazing  on  his  wife's  face 
with  a  terrible  earnestness  in  his  eyes.  Under  such  a 
steadfast  gaze  sleepers  are  said  often  to  wake,  but  Odille 
never  even  stirred  uneasily.  For  any  sign  of  life  he 
showed  beyond  the  gleaming  of  his  haggard  eyes,  her 
husband  might  have  been  one  of  the  figures  that  kneel 
under  the  canopies  of  tombs. 

In  that  strange  fashion  was  passed  the  very  last  night 
that  those  two  would  ever  spend  together.  At  length 
grey  light  stole  in  through  the  ill-closed  window  curtains. 
As  Ralph  arose  shaking  himself,  with  something  like  a 
groan,  Odille  awoke.  Even  as  she  did  so,  her  husband's 
lips  were  laid  lightly  on  her  brow. 

"It  is  full  time  to  rise,  belle  amie.  Thou  seest  I  am 
afoot  already.  Loath  though  I  be  to  part  with  thee,  even 
for  a  brief  season,  I  would  fain  see  thee  in  saddle.  Thou 


414          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

hast  a  long  journey  before  thee,  and  the  days  shorten 
fast." 

Just  then,  by  one  of  those  vague  impulses  in  which 
surely  some  prescience  mingles,  Odille's  heart  was  drawn 
nearer  to  her  husband  than  it  had  ever  been,  with  re- 
morseful tenderness.  Her  arm  stole  round  his  neck,  as 
she  whispered : 

"Blessed  Saint  Ursula!  How  pale  thou  art!  If  this 
parting  irks  thee  so,  why  dost  thou  send  me  forth  ?  Trust 
me,  I  too  am  loath  to  go;  though  of  a  surety  we  shall 
meet  soon." 

"It  is  but  the  dawn-light" — he  said — "that  maketh  me 
look  wan ;  and  a  little  weariness  beside.  Seek  not  to  turn 
me  from  my  purpose,  sweetheart.  All  is  ordered  wisely. 
And  fear  not :  we  shall  meet — in  God's  good  time." 

The  cherry  tones  waxed  very  solemn  in  the  utterance 
of  those  last  words ;  in  after  years,  Odille  knew  right  well 
why. 

By  this  time  all  the  household  was  astir,  and  during 
the  bustle  of  departure,  those  two  were  not  alone  again 
together.  The  pack-horses  stood  loaded,  and  most  of  the 
escort  were  already  mustered  in  the  courtyard  as  Sir 
Ralph  drew  Lanyon  aside  and  gave  into  his  charge  the 
sealed  packet  with  directions  as  to  its  safe  delivery. 

"Thou  mayest  tell  Sir  John  Felton  how  it  stands  with 
us  here" — he  went  on  carelessly.  "We  fought  side  by 
side  at  Poitiers!  and  I  did  him  a  shrewd  turn  when  I 
dragged  him  from  under  his  destrier  in  the  mellay.  'Tis 
a  chance  if  he  remembers  this ;  moreover,  his  own  hands 
are  too  full  to  send  help  so  far  afield  even  for  a  stake 
better  worth  saving  than  an  old  freebooter's  bones.  Be 
watchful  and  wary,  after  thy  fashion  ;  and  trust  me,  I  will 
keep  faith  with  thee." 

As  the  knight  turned  away,  he  came  face  to  face  with 
De  Marsan.  The  esquire's  countenance  was  more  down- 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.          415 

cast  than  usual ;  and  very  pale — save  for  a  scarlet  spot  on 
either  cheek-bone.  In  all  his  movements  there  was  a 
nervous  feverish  haste,  and  under  the  other's  steady  eyes 
his  own  sank,  if  they  did  not  quail. 

"Fare  thou  well  for  the  nonce,  Messire  Gualtier" — 
Brakespeare  said — "many  things  may  happen  ere  thou 
and  I  foregather  again.  Lo !  I  deliver  to  thy  keeping  the 
most  precious  thing  I  own,  feeling  well  assured  that  thou 
wilt  quit  thyself  of  the  trust,  worthily  as  thou  hast  done 
heretofore — at  cost  of  how  much  soever  of  thine  own 
peril  or  pain." 

And  he  held  out  his  hand,  which  the  other  took,  and, 
answering  never  a  word,  saluted  reverently,  with  lips  that 
struck  cold  like  a  corpse's. 

Just  then  the  Lady  Odille  came  down  with  her  maidens, 
busked  for  the  journey.  The  courtyard  was  full  to  over- 
flowing, for  not  only  the  escort,  but  all  the  garrison  not  on 
actual  duty,  were  gathered  there ;  but  Ralph  took  his  wife 
in  his  arms  before  them  all,  and  held  her  for  some  seconds 
closely  embraced.  Then  he  kissed  her  on  her  forehead, 
and  on  her  eyes,  from  which  tears  were  streaming.  His 
countenance  was  so  calm  that  never  an  one  there — not 
even  the  woman  pressed  against  his  heart — guessed  how 
near  that  heart  was  to  breaking.  Then  he  lifted  her  into 
the  saddle,  settling  her  riding-skirt  carefully — as  he  used 
to  do  in  the  old  hawking  days ;  and,  still  keeping  silence, 
took  the  bridle  of  the  jennet,  and  let  it  forth  through  the 
arch  of  the  barbican  and  over  the  outer  drawbridge.  There 
he  stopped  and  kissed  his  wife  once  more — this  time  only 
on  the  left  hand  that  hung  listlessly  down,  saying  softly, 
"God  be  with  thee,  sweetheart" — and  so  let  her  pass  on. 

Then  the  escort  filed  out  two  abreast ;  Lanyon  and 
three  others  spurring  to  the  front,  as  soon  as  they  were 
past  the  drawbridge,  to  form  an  advance  guard ;  De  Mar- 
san  bringing  up  the  extreme  rear.  At  the  turning  of  the 


416          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

descent  where  it  plunged  into  the  woodland  the  Lady 
Odille  turned  in  her  saddle  and  looked  back.  She  saw 
dimly,  through  tears,  her  husband  standing  statue-like  on 
the  very  same  spot  where  she  had  left  him,  just  within 
the  square  shadow  cast  forward  by  the  barbican  walls. 
She  waved  her  kerchief  twice  or  thrice,  but  her  adieu  was 
seemingly  unnoticed,  for  there  came  back  no  answering 
sign. 

Many  times,  thereafter — in  night  or  day  dreams — the 
lady  saw  that  stately  figure,  with  crossed  arms,  and  head 
slightly  bent  as  though  in  thought  or  in  sorrow.  But  in 
life,  or  substance,  she  saw  him  never  any  more. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

THE   ASSAULT. 

AD  it  been  Ralph  Brakespeare's  wont  to  fret  or 
make  moan  over  what  was  past  and  gone,  there 
would  have  been  scant  leisure  for  such  follies 
just  now.  But  it  was  not  in  his  nature  so  to 
abase  himself,  and,  when  he  had  once  faced  his  sorrow, 
he  no  more  thought  of  letting  it  overmaster  him  than  of 
yielding  without  drawing  sword  to  any  foe  in  flesh  and 
blood. 

The  next  three  days  were  very  busy  ones  at  Hacque- 
mont.  There  was  the  victualing  of  the  castle  to  be  pro- 
vided for;  walls  to  be  repaired  as  thoroughly  as  haste 
would  permit ;  stones  and  bolts  to  be  provided  for  the 
great  engines,  with  a  store  of  lighter  missiles  for  the  hand 
artillery.  All  these  matters  the  Free  Companion  directed 
with  unwearying  care ;  not  seldom  himself  doffing  doublet 
and  giving  example  to  his  artificers  where  there  was 
special  need  for  strength  or  skill. 

So  each  night  came  more  quickly  than  might  have  been 
looked  for,  and  he  lay  down  too  tired  to  dream.  Towards 
the  evening  of  the  third  day,  when  all  things  were  ready, 
Sir  Ralph  mustered  his  entire  garrison  in  the  courtyard, 
and  thus  bespoke  them: 

"Good  friends  and  followers:  It  behoves  ye  to  know 
how  matters  stand  with  us  here.  For  I  will  take  no  man's 
service  by  fraud  or  cozenage ;  neither  shall  any  risk  life  or 
liberty  further  for  me  unless  by  his  own  free 


4i8          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

will.  I  have  been  summoned — as  some  of  ye  may 
have  partly  guessed — to  render  homage  to  the  French 
King,  and  to  serve  under  the  banner  of  the 
Lord  de  Guesclin,  his  Constable.  Now  this — where- 
fore it  boots  not  to  explain — suits  in  no  wise  with 
my  humor ;  rather  am  I  minded  to  hold  this  castle  to  the 
uttermost  against  any  force,  great  or  small,  that  may  come 
to  beleaguer  it.  But  I  constrain  none  to  abide  with  me  in 
a  strait  well  nigh  desperate,  for  of  rescue  or  relief  there 
is,  I  confess,  but  scant  hope.  So  I  hereby  give  license  to 
each  and  every  one  of  you,  now  to  depart,  receiving  full 
wages  up  to  this  very  hour;  and  such  as  it  shall  thus 
please  to  go  forth,  I  assoilzie  of  cowardice  or  treachery. 
Most  here  were  bred  and  born  in  France,  even  as  I  was 
bred  and  born  in  merry  England  yonder ;  and  shame  it 
were  to  my  knighthood,  if  I  enforced — yea,  or  overper- 
suaded — such  to  bear  arms  against  their  natural  Suzerain. 
Furthermore,  I  needs  must  avow  that,  for  mine  own  self, 
I  purpose  to  take  no  quarter ;  albeit  if  I  am  sped,  I  doubt 
not  that  the  Lord  du  Guesclin,  or  whosoever  holdeth  com- 
mand in  his  stead,  will  grant  to  any  one  who  shall  require 
it  fair  terms  of  surrender.  Now  let  any  speak  or  here- 
after hold  their  peace.  For  whoso  bideth  with  me,  from 
this  night  forth  must  needs  bide  to  the  end." 

All  left  in  Hacquemont  were,  as  hath  been  aforesaid, 
picked  men,  chosen  by  an  eye  that  seldom  erred  in  scan- 
ning the  points  of  a  soldier.  Yet  it  was  scarce  to  be  ex- 
pected but  that  some  two  or  three  would  have  availed 
themselves  readily  of  a  proffer,  so  frank  and  timely.  It 
was  only  fair  to  reckon  that  the  old  rentiers,  who  had 
gone  through  fire  and  water  beyond  Alps  with  the  famous 
Free  Companion,  should  stand  by  him  to  the  last — for 
even  those  masterful  thieves  were  not  exempt  from  a  rude 
wild  code  of  honor — but  there  were  others  there,  who, 
had  they  listened  to  the  voice  of  prudence,  or  even  the 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.          419 

promptings  of  natural  affection,  would  surely  have  left 
the  stranger  to  fight  out  his  rash  battle  alone.  ^Yet  never 
a  man  gave  token  of  such  purpose  by  word  or  sign — nay, 
the  brows  of  some  grew  dark  and  overcast,  as  if  they  liked 
not  the  choice  set  before  them.  A  murmur  ran  through 
the  crowd  not  hard  to  interpret;  and,  at  the  last,  one 
bolder  and  readier  of  tongue  than  his  fellows,  spoke  out. 

"My  lord ;  if  this  be  no  jest,  we  pray  you  to  prove  your 
followers  no  further.  We  have  ever  been  bounteously  en- 
treated by  you  ;  not  in  the  matters  of  wage  alone,  but  with 
kindness  not  to  be  paid  in  coin.  Should  any  leave  you  in 
such  a  strait — ay,  were  it  mine  own  brother  that  stands 
here — I  would  never  break  bread  with  him  thereafter,  nor 
give  him  water  to  slake  his  thirst.  And  so  say  we  all." 

For  the  first  time  since  he  began  to  be  lonely,  Ralph 
Brakespeare  smiled. 

"It  is  no  jest" — he  said — "but  bitter  earnest.  Yet  be  it 
as  ye  will ;  and  I  thank  ye  heartily." 

Then,  waving  his  hand  in  sign  of  dismissal,  the  knight 
went  up  into  the  keep.  Save  when  he  went  his  wonted 
round  of  the  sentinels,  he  exchanged  no  other  word 
with  any  that  evening. 

The  fourth  day  passed  quietly  enough  at  Hacquemont. 
So  also  did  the  fifth,  up  to  the  afternoon,  when  two  of  the 
mounted  scouts  came  in,  bringing  tidings  that  from  the 
summit  of  a  hill  some  five  leagues  distant,  they  had  caught 
sight  of  many  spears,  followed  by  a  large  body  of  foot- 
men— and  what  the  scouts  took  to  be  a  long  battering 
train — in  the  act  of  crossing  the  Vezere  to  the  south-east 
of  Coutances. 

Ralph  received  the  news  with  perfect  coolness. 

"We  shall  not  see  them  before  to-morrow  at  noon,  at 
the  earliest" — he  answered.  "The  Constable,  or  whoso- 
ever may  be  his  lieutenant,  will  scarce  adventure  his  artil- 
lery over  our  rough  roads  under  darkness.  They  will 


420          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

camp  near  Bergerac  to-night."  But  he  muttered  within 
himself  as  he  turned  away — "I  would  honest  Will  Lan- 
yon  were  back.  'Twill  break  the  poor  knave's  heart  if  he 
be  caught  by  the  way ;  and  'tis  a  chance  if  he  stumble  not 
on  some  of  their  scurriers  unawares." 

The  knight  was  sitting  over  a  solitary  meal  an  hour  or 
two  after  sundown,  eating  and  drinking  rather  me- 
chanically, when  the  sound  of  a  bugle  without  the  barbi- 
can made  him  start — not  in  wonder  or  alarm,  but  with 
pleasure.  He  knew  the  call  well  enough,  and,  settling 
himself  in  his  chair  again,  drained  a  beaker  with  deeper 
relish  than  he  had  felt  of  late,  muttering — 

"So  the  old  fox  hath  slipped  the  hunters  and  found  his 
way  home." 

A  few  minutes  later,  Lanyon  stood  in  his  lord's  pres- 
ence; and,  after  making  his  reverence,  waited  to  be 
spoken  to. 

"Thou  art  welcome  back,  Will,"  the  knight  said.  "Thy 
scruples  were  idle,  as  thou  seest.  How  did  my  dear  lady 
and  wife  compass  her  journey?  Thou  didst  not,  I  trust, 
press  forward  beyond  her  strength." 

"The  Lady  Odille  bore  her  journey  bravely" — the 
esquire  answered — "and  she  was  well  enough  in  body, 
albeit  somewhat  sad  in  spirit,  when  I  took  my  leave.  She 
charged  me  to  bear  to  your  worship  her  loving  duty ;  and 
to  entreat  that,  for  her  sake,  you  would  not  rashly  risk 
your  person.  Also  I  delivered  the  packet  to  Messire 
Bartelot,  for  the  which  I  hold  his  receipt.  He,  too,  com- 
mended himself  humbly  to  your  lordship,  and  would  have 
had  me  lodge  with  him  that  night ;  but  after  our  cattle 
were  refreshed,  I  cared  not  to  tarry  longer ;  so  we  turned 
bridle,  and  rode  homeward  under  the  moon." 

"How  sayest  thou — 'we'?" — the  other  asked  hastily. 
"Comest  thou  then  not  back  alone?" 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  421 

The  esquire  shifted  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  a  little 
uneasily. 

"Not  altogether  alone,"  he  grumbled.  "I" He 

stopped,  looking  back  over  his  shoulder. 

Glancing  in  the  same  direction,  Brakespeare  saw, 
framed  in  the  dark  doorway  leading  to  the  stair,  the  white 
face  of  Gualtier  de  Marsan,  who  stood  there  bareheaded, 
with  his  helmet  in  his  hand.  The  Free  Companion 
frowned  in  surprise  or  displeasure ;  nevertheless  he  beck- 
oned the  other  to  approach. 

"How  cometh  this  about,  Messire  Gualtier?  Didst  thou 
not  comprehend  it  was  thy  duty  to  watch  over  the  safety 
of  my  lady  Odille,  and  do  her  bidding  as  heretofore  till 
thou  wert  relieved  of  the  trust?" 

The  esquire  advanced  till  he  stood  close  to  the  dais, 
looking  his  lord  full  in  the  face ;  and  this  time  his  eyes 
did  not  quail. 

"Noble  seigneur" — he  said — "I  crave  your  pardon  hum- 
bly if  I  have  gainsaid  your  wishes  or  misconceived  mine 
own  duty.  After  my  poor  judgment  I  did  right ;  and  as 
alone  it  would  beseem  my  father's  son.  The  gracious 
Lady  Odille,  even  from  her  childhood,  hath  been  watched 
and  ministered  unto  by  true  honest  folk — not  by  faitors 
and  cowards.  Foulest  of  such  should  I  have  been  had  I 
tarried  yonder,  discharging  page's  office,  whilst  you  were 
in  deadly  peril,  for  my  fellow  esquire  here  could  not  make 
but  half  confession  when  I  questioned  him  straitly.  So, 
when  I  had  seen  the  Lady  Odille  and  her  household  safe- 
ly bestowed,  I  joined  myself  to  him  forthwith ;  and  we 
rode  back  together.  If  it  be  your  pleasure  to  send  me 
forth  again,  I  will  depart  instantly.  But,  in  such  case,  I 
swear  by  the  most  Holy  Trinity,  that  not  to  the  morning 
light  will  I  outlive  such  shame." 

"Questioning!" — Lanyon  grumbled — "Marry;  if  ques- 
tioning were  all!  Well,  I  must  bear  the  blame  of  be- 


422  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

wraying  my  lord's  confidence.  I  wax  soft-hearted  as  I 
wax  old ;  years  agone  I  had  not  been  thus  beguiled." 

"I  blame  neither  of  ye  overmuch'' — Brakespeare  an- 
swered, his  countenance  clearing.  "Yea  indeed,  Gualtier  ; 
for  once  thou  wert  right  in  following  thy  conscience  rath- 
er than  thy  mere  duty.  Mayhap,  when  thou  art  old,  thou 
wilt  remember  these  words  of  mine.  Go  now,  and  dis- 
arm and  refresh  yourselves  speedily.  Ye  must  have  made 
good  speed  on  your  homeward  ride." 

"Such  speed" — Lanyon  retorted — "that  my  stout  des- 
trier is  utterly  foundered,  I  fear ;  and  his  is  scarce  in  bet- 
ter case.  But  'tis  partly  your  lordship's  fault ;  you  bade 
me  not  spare  horseflesh." 

"Tush  !" — Brakespeare  answered — "thou  art  excused, 
mon  vieux  routier.  What  matters  horseflsh  to  such  as  are 
couped  within  four  walls?  There  will  be  more  destriers 
in  the  stalls  than  men  to  back  them  before  all  is  done 
here.  Get  thee  gone  now.  I  will  speak  with  thee  anon." 

About  ten  of  the  clock  on  the  following  morning,  the 
scouts  returned  again,  and  reported  the  head  of  the 
French  column  to  be  scarce  more  than  a  league  distant. 
An  hour  or  so  later,  a  clump  of  spears — in  the  midst  of 
which  was  borne  the  guidon  of  a  knight-banneret — filed 
out  of  the  woodland  on  to  the  narrow  plateau.  From  the 
midst  of  these,  so  soon  as  they  had  halted,  a  herald  rode 
out,  and — having  thrice  sounded  his  trumpet — cried  aloud 
that  Sir  Olivier  de  Clisson  desired  to  hold  parley  with  the 
Seigneur  of  Hacquemont. 

When  Sir  Ralph  Brakespeare  showed  himself  on  the 
battlements  of  the  barbican,  which  he  did  almost  instantly, 
the  leader  of  the  party  beneath  stretched  forth  his  right 
hand  ungauntleted.  Under  this  knight's  raised  vizor 
might  be  discerned  one  of  those  rough-hewn  faces  that, 
in  repose,  are  wont  to  look  something  stolid  or  stern ;  but 
when  lighted  up,  are  far  from  forbidding.  His  voice  was 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.          423 

very  clear  and  sonorous,  though  marked  with  a  strong 
provincial  accent. 

"Valiant  sir" — he  began — "I  am  charged  by  my  lord 
the  Constable,  to  entreat  you  to  consider,  whether  ye  will 
not  repent  yourself  while  there  yet  is  time  of  the  message 
ye  sent  him  but  lately.  And  for  mine  own  part — though' 
1  am  little  apt  to  show  favor  to  thy  countrymen — I  do 
earnestly  back  this,  his  prayer.  I  would  have  you  know 
that  there  followeth  me,  such  an  armament — fully  pro- 
vided with  all  matters  necessary  for  siege — as  ye  may  not 
hope  long  to  withstand.  Those  of  your  party  in  Bordeaux 
and  thereabouts,  have  enow  to  do  to  hold  their  own,  with- 
out sending  succor  to  any ;  and,  unless  rescue  arrive  in 
force  far  superior  to  mine  own,  I  stir  not  from  before  this 
castle  till  it  be  rendered.  Once  more  I  renew  the  fair 
proffer  set  down  in  my  lord  Constable's  letter ;  yourself 
could  hardly  crave  more  gracious  one.  Had  ye  been  for 
these  years  past  King  Edward's  soldier  and  liegeman, 
instead  of  warring — with  high  renown,  as  I  must  needs 
confess — all  these  years,  for  your  own  hand,  ye  were  not 
bound  in  honor  to  hold  this  place  against  such  odds. 
Furthermore,  under  your  pleasure,  it  were  better  surely  to 
abate  somewhat  of  prejudice  rather  than  expose  the  fair 
and  gentle  lady  whom  ye  wedded  to  the  perils  and  hard- 
ships of  siege ;  albeit  at  our  hands  she  need  fear  naught. 
So  I  beseech  you,  give  me  now  your  last  answer — being 
well  aware  that  if  ye  continue  stubborn,  ye  need  look  for 
no  further  mercy  or  grace." 

Without  pause  or  hesitation,  Ralph  Brakespeare  made 
answer : 

"Sir  Olivier  de  Clisson,  I  cannot  choose  but  thank  the 
lord  Constable,  and  yourself  to  boot,  for  your  kindly  prof- 
fers ;  of  the  which,  nevertheless,  I  may  in  no  wise  avail 
myself.  To  what  I  have  written  I  hold.  As  for  the  lady 
whereof  ye  spake,  though  she  might  safely — come  the 


424          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

worst — rely  on  your  courtesy,  she  need  not  be  beholden 
to  it  as  yet,  for  she  is  safely  bestowed,  far  out  of  harm's 
way,  beyond  the  sound  of  French  trumpets.  There  are 
no  women  or  weaklings  within  these  walls,  but  only  men- 
at-arms,  with  whom  ye  may  deal  as  ye  list — when  ye  have 
the  power.  So  set  on,  and  spare  not,  when  ye  will.  And 
God  defend  the  right!" 

Clisson  shut  his  visor ;  and  drew  on  his  gauntlet,  mut- 
tering as  he  turned  away — • 

"His  blood  be  on  his  own  head.  Tis  a  shrewd  pity,  too. 
A  hardy  knight,  I  warrant  him ;  and  never  yet  saw  I 
Free  Lance  who  bore  himself  so  stately." 

Even  while  the  parley  was  proceeding,  more  and  more 
spears  had  come  gleaming  up  through  the  woodland ; 
but,  before  the  plateau  on  the  summit  grew  crowded,  De 
Clisson  ordered  his  trumpets  to  sound  the  halt,  whilst, 
with  two  or  three  others,  he  took  survey. 

The  castle  of  Hacquemont,  as  hath  been  aforesaid, 
crowned  an  eminence  steep  and  rocky  in  most  parts, 
though  not  exceeding  high.  Round  such  a  place  it  was 
not  easy  to  draw  regular  siege  lines ;  and — except  on  one 
side — there  was  no  space  broad  or  level  enough  for  the 
working  of  all  ordinary  battering  engines.  But  it  was 
not  for  naught,  that  the  Breton  captain  had  already  be- 
come famous  in  this  especial  line  of  warfare.  He  was 
endowed  with  the  quick  eye  and  mechanical  instinct  of  a 
born  engineer  and  made  light  of  obstacles  that  would  have 
puzzled  others,  whilst  he  could  use,  to  the  uttermost,  the 
faintest  vantage  of  ground. 

Within  an  hour,  many  axes  were  ringing  in  the  wood- 
land, and  tree  after  tree  came  tumbling  down  before  the 
sturdy  pioneers.  Others  cleared  away  the  brushwood, 
binding  it  as  it  was  felled  into  faggots  and  bundles.  This 
work  had  a  double  object— the  clearing  of  the  ground 
for  the  manoeuvres  of  attack,  and  the  providing  of  huts 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  425 

and  booths  to  shelter  man  and  beast.  So  deftly  was  it  per- 
formed, that  when  night  closed  in  the  little  hill  was  al- 
most bare  and  nearly  all  the  besieging  force  was  housed 
in  some  sort  of  fashion,  though  only  the  knights  and  their 
esquires  lodged  in  tents  or  pavilions.  The  French  had 
marched  some  distance  that  day,  and  De  Clisson  was  too 
wise  a  captain  to  overtax  the  strength  of  his  soldiers. 
Though  the  moon  was  bright,  he  deferred  the  heavy  task 
of  bringing  up  his  battering  engines  and  bombards  till 
the  morrow  ;  and  remained  quiet  through  the  night — only 
keeping  under  arms  a  force  sufficient  to  guard  against 
surprise  or  sally. 

Early  on  the  morrow  there  came  to  De  Clisson's  tent 
three  of  his  knights,  and  the  chiefest  of  them — Sir  Yvon 
de  Laconnet  by  name — thus  bespoke  him : 

"Noble  sir ;  we  entreat  you  to  consider  that  it  will  scarce 
redound  to  your  honor  or  ours  to  lie  long  before  so  mean 
a  castle,  which  must  needs  be  poorly  garrisoned,  when 
towns  and  fortresses,  such  as  Civerolles,  Becherel,  Niort, 
Sancerre,  Brest,  and  Montaigne,  have  gone  down  quickly 
before  your  arms.  Wherefore  we  beseech  you  that,  be- 
fore sitting  down  here  with  all  your  battering  train,  you 
will  give  us  license  to  try  open  assault.  The  ditch  is  not 
deep  and  may  easily  be  filled,  so  as  to  give  holding-ground 
for  the  ladders.  An'  we  have  leave  to  advance  our  ban- 
ners, we  doubt  not  to  give  good  account  of  the  castle  ere 
noon." 

Sir  Olivier  pondered  awhile.  He  was  by  no  means  so 
confident  as  to  the  chance  of  open  assault;  but — himself 
a  born  Breton — he  knew  well  with  what  stubborn,  in- 
tractable characters  he  had  to  deal ;  and  felt  that  it  was 
better  to  risk  somewhat  than  to  provoke  discontent 
amongst  his  subalterns.  So,  rather  sullenly  and  un- 
graciously, he  gave  the  required  permission,  insisting  only 


426  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

on  prompt  obedience,  should  he  think  fit  to  sound  the 
recall. 

Up  to  this  time  very  few  of  the  defenders  had  shown 
themselves  on  the  towers  or  battlements.  Every  now  and 
then,  the  figure  of  a  knight  in  bright  steel  armor  and  a 
plain  helmet,  bearing  no  crest  or  plume,  might  be  seen 
passing  along  the  walls,  or  leaning  forth  to  watch  the 
preparations  below.  Partly  from  his  great  size  and  stat- 
ure, partly  from  his  bearing,  the  besiegers  soon  came  to 
recognize  Sir  Ralph  Brakespeare,  and  many  had  tales 
to  tell  more  or  less  wild  or  improbable,  as  they  pointed 
out  to  their  fellows  the  terrible  Free  Companion. 

About  nine  of  the  clock,  the  French  trumpets  sounded ; 
and  their  storming  parties,  under  the  several  pennons 
of  Yvon  de  Laconnet,  Alain  de  Beaumanoir,  and  Geof- 
frey de  Kerimel — the  knights  who  had  sought  and  ob- 
tained of  their  leader  that  perilous  honor — marched  up 
the  hill  to  the  assault  in  cchellon  order,  choosing  for  the 
point  of  attack  the  northwest  angle  of  the  castle  walls, 
where  the  plateau  was  wide  enough  to  allow  one  company 
at  least  to  form  on  level  ground. 

In  the  front  rank,  a  few  paces  in  advance  of  the  head 
of  the  column,  came  the  pavisors,  bearing  long  triangular 
shields,  intended  to  shelter  the  cross-bowmen,  whilst  by 
aid  of  windlass  and  lever  they  bent  the  ponderous  arba- 
lest or  discharged  the  quarrel ;  then  came  the  cross-bow- 
men, harnessed  after  their  fashion  in  steel  saladc,  shoulder 
and  thigh  plates,  and  thick,  wide-sleeved  haqueton;  then 
the  more  completely  equipped  mounted  archers,  who  only 
on  such  occasions  fought  a-foot;  lastly,  the  knights  and 
esquires  in  full  armor  of  plate  and  mail.  In  the  rear  of 
each  divsion  marched  pioneers  and  pavylers — some  bear- 
ing scaling  ladders ;  others,  fascines  and  rude  hurdles  for 
filling  up  the  ditch. 

Even  now,  when  the  assault  was  imminent,  there  seemed 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  427 

little  stir  within  the  castle  walls ;  only,  at  rare  intervals, 
a  helmet  showed  itself  at  a  crenelle  and  withdrew  again 
speedily.  But  it  might  have  been  noticed,  that  just  here, 
the  dark  beams  that  betokened  the  presence  of  trebuchet 
and  petrary  were  most  frequent ;  as  if  the  captain  of  the 
besieged  had  known  of  a  certainty  where  the  first  assault 
would  be  made.  On  the  very  verge  of  the  moat  the 
pavises  were  planted ;  and  from  behind  these  the  arbales- 
triers  made  ready  to  sweep  the  battlements  with  their 
quarrels.  The  men-at-arms  halted ;  whilst  those  who 
bore  the  fascines  advanced  on  either  flank  and  began  to 
construct  a  sort  of  causeway  athwart  the  moat,  which 
here  was  but  moderately  deep,  and  scarce  half  full  of 
water. 

This  work  went  on  steadily,  and  still  the  garrison  with- 
in made  no  hostile  sign ;  only,  ever  and  anon,  the  knight 
in  bright  armor  leaned  forth  from  a  certain  crenelle  and 
watched  the  progress  of  things  below.  On  each  of  these 
occasions  Ralph  Brakespeare  was  the  mark  of  many 
quarrels,  but  these — though  they  rattled  on  helmet,  gorg- 
ering,  and  breast-plate — glanced  off,  scarcely  dinting  the 
steel.  That  plain  harness,  whereon  was  neither  graving, 
boss,  nor  damascene,  was  a  very  masterpiece  of  the 
armorer's  art,  and  even  in  Milan  was  worth  a  banneret's 
ransom. 

So  Sir  Yvon  de  Laconnet,  under  whose  pennon  was 
ranged  the  leading  company  of  stormers,  was  fain  to  wait 
patiently,  till  the  causeway  was  completed,  much  marvel- 
ing in  himself  at  the  strange  supineness  of  those  within 
and  half  suspecting  stratagem.  At  length  the  fascines 
were  level  with  the  bank,  and,  when  the  hurdles  were 
laid  thereon,  there  was  foundation  firm  enough  not  only 
to  support  the  assailants,  but  to  give  fair  foothold  for 
their  scaling-ladders.  Then,  without  further  delay,  cry- 
ing aloud  "St.  Yves  Laconnet,"  the  men-at-arms  threw 


428          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

themselves  on  the  causeway,  four  abreast,  bearing  the  lad- 
ders in  their  midst ;  whilst  the  arbalestries  tarried  still 
on  the  bank  to  cover  the  assault  with  their  artillery.  As 
the  head  of  the  column  touched  the  castle  wall,  a  voice 
from  above — distinctly  audible  as  though  the  air  had  been 
deathly  still,  instead  of  filled  with  the  rising  din  of  bat- 
tle, spoke  these  two  words: 

"Laissez  oiler  I" 

And  a  huge  mass  of  stone  like  a  crag  toppling  slowly 
over  the  battlements  fell  into  the  very  midst  of  the  front 
rank,  crushing  Sir  Yvon  de  Laconnet  into  a  shapeless 
mass  and  sorely  maiming  two  others.  This  was  only  the 
forerunner  of  a  storm  of  missiles  of  all  weights  and  sizes 
that  for  several  minutes  hailed  down  without  pity  or  stay. 

Now  it  was  seen,  wherefore  the  wary  Free  Companion 
had  suffered  the  causeway  to  be  made  without  hindrance. 
Each  one  of  his  engines  had  been  leveled  with  cool  de- 
liberation, and,  as  at  such  short  distance  a  stone,  bullet, 
or  beam  could  be  shot  to  a  hair's  breadth,  not  one  of 
them  missed  its  mark  or  wasted  itself  on  a  spot  already 
swept  by  one  of  its  fellows.  The  carnage  wrought  in 
brief  space  was  marvelous.  It  was  wrought,  too,  with 
scarce  any  loss  to  the  defenders,  who  could  discharge  their 
engines  with  very  moderate  danger  to  their  own  persons 
from  bolt  or  quarrel.  When  the  storm  of  missiles  began 
to  slacken,  the  causeway  was  cumbered  with  corpses  and 
writhing  bodies ;  whilst  in  the  ditch  on  either  side  wal- 
lowed those  who  had  been  thrust  from  above  in  the  tur- 
moil, or  had  cast  themselves  off  in  their  agony  or  fear. 
Several  of  these  last  contrived  to  struggle  to  the  further 
bank,  and  were  drawn  out  by  their  comrades ;  but  more — 
some  even  unwounded — were  smothered  under  the  weight 
of  their  harness  in  the  water  and  ooze. 

A  crueler  repulse,  or  one  likelier  to  discourage  those 
who  came  up  in  support,  could  scarce  be  imagined.  But 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  429 

Geoffrey  de  Kerimel,  who  led  the  second  division,  was  a. 
Breton  to  the  backbone,  endowed  with  more  than  his  fair 
share  of  the  surly  obstinacy  that  makes  better  soldiers  and 
more  dangerous  rebels  than  mere  dashing  valor.  Hastily, 
though  fearful  that  the  trumpets  in  the  rear  sounding  re- 
call might  baulk  him  of  his  purpose,  he  gave  the  word 
to  advance.  The  second  division  came  on  much  as  the 
first  had  done,  saving  that  they  could  not  ke.ep  close 
order,  and  were  fain  to  make  their  way  as  best  they  could 
across  the  causeway,  thrusting  aside  the  corpses  with 
scant  ceremony  and  not  always  pausing  to  make  distinc- 
tion betwixt  the  dead  and  dying.  As  De  Laconnet's  cross- 
bowmen  still  lined  the  moat-bank,  those  attached  to  De 
Kerimel's  company  were  not  required  for  like  duty.  So, 
laying  down  their  ponderous  crennequins,  they  drew  their 
short  swords  and  prepared  to  support  the  men-at-arms 
to  the  best  of  their  power. 

The  second  company  were  exposed  to  no  such  peril  as 
the  first  for  reason  good.  The  cumbrous  wall  engines 
then  in  use  when  once  discharged  could  not  be  brought 
to  bear  again  without  some  time  and  trouble,  and  the 
garrison  was  not  able  to  offer  any  serious  resistance  to 
the  rearing  of  the  scaling-ladders.  Two  of  them  were 
set  up  abreast,  each  in  a  notch  of  a  crenelle,  and  were 
soon  crowded  with  stormers  swarming  up  eagerly.  The 
right  hand  party  was  led  by  Sir  Geoffrey  de  Kerimel  in 
person  ;  the  other  by  a  strong  and  valiant  esquire — Manoel 
Cassouan  by  name. 

As  Sir  Geoffrey's  head  rose  on  the  level  of  the  battle- 
ments he  came  face  to  face  with  a  knight  in  bright  armor, 
wearing  his  vizor  down,  and  in  his  right  hand  swaying 
carelessly  a  great  steel  mace,  as  if  he  had  no  present  in- 
tention to  strike. 

"Valiant  sir" — the  Englishman  said  coolly — '"whose 
title  I  know  not,  for  I  mind  not  before  to  have  seen  your 


430          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE, 

pennon,  doth  it  please  you  to  yield  yourself  my  prisoner, 
'rescue  or  no  rescue'  ?  For  I  hold  you  now  at  such  vant- 
age that  in  no  other  wise  may  you  carry  your  life  away." 

The  Breton  laughed  hoarsely  in  his  helmet,  and,  with 
no  other  answer,  mounted  two  more  rungs,  brandishing 
his  epee  d'armes.  Sir  Ralph  Brakespeare — the  speaker 
was  none  other — laughed  too;  and,  as  the  other  strove 
to  thrust  himself  through  the  crenelle,  his  mace  de- 
scended, crushing  in  helmet  and  brain-pan  like  egg-shells, 
so  that  Geoffrey  de  Kerimel  fell  back  without  a  stagger, 
carrying  with  him  headlong  the  two  who  stood  next 
upon  the  ladder. 

Others  swarmed  up  apace,  but  never  an  one  of  these 
fairly  gained  footing  within  the  battlements.  For  there 
stood  the  Free  Companion,  swaying  his  mace  as  a 
smith  sways  his  fore-hammer — only  that,  instead  of  the 
blithe  clink  of  the  anvil,  each  blow  was  followed  by  a 
ghastly  dull  crash.  Against  that  weapon,  aided  by  ad- 
vantage of  height  and  ground,  neither  skill  of  fence  nor 
harness  of  proof  could  avail.  The  fatal  crenelle  was  all 
splashed  with  blood-gouts,  till  a  foul,  dark  streamlet  oozed 
therefrom,  and  trinkled  down  the  wall.  At  last  the  at- 
tack wavered  and  slackened.  There  was  no  longer  press 
and  throng  at  the  ladder-foot,  for  even  the  stubborn 
Bretons  began  to  doubt  whether  it  were  their  bounden 
duty  to  front  not  peril  alone,  but  seemingly  certain  death. 

The  stormers  on  the  other  ladder,  if  they  encountered 
no  single  champion  of  such  terrible  prowess,  met  with  a 
very  stout  resistance,  and  could  barely  hold  their  own. 
There  Gualtier  de  Marsan  led  the  defenders  and  did  his 
devoir  right  gallantly,  dealing  such  strokes  as  could 
scarce  have  been  expected  in  one  of  his  slender  frame, 
not  long  since  raised  up  from  sore  sickness.  Before  they 
had  exchanged  half-a-dozen  blows,  his  sword  point  had 
found  passage  through  Manoel  de  Cassouan's  gorget,  and 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  431 

hurled  him  backwards  with  a  mortal  wound.  For  some 
minutes  fierce  foining  went  on  with  glaive  and  battle- 
axe  and  shortened  spear. 

Whilst  the  fight  was  at  its  hottest,  came  up  Lanyon, 
from  another  part  of  the  walls  whither  he  had  been  sent 
by  his  lord.  For  a  brief  space  the  old  esquire  stood  aside, 
looking  on  with  a  kind  of  grim  approval,  but  not  seeking 
to  take  any  part  therein.  At  last  he  pushed  his  way  to  the 
front,  and  touched  the  shoulder  of  De  Marsan,  who  had 
that  second  hurled  back  another  adversary. 

"Cover  my  head  while  I  stoop,  Messire  Gualtier" — he 
said — "and  I  will  show  thee  a  trick  worth  the  seeing  if 
my  sinews  have  not  grown  slack  through  idlesse." 

Even  while  he  spoke,  Lanyon  leant  forward  and 
grasped  the  ladder,  the  topmost  rungs  of  which  were  just 
then  clear,  for  the  rearmost  assailants  had  been  somewhat 
thrown  into  confusion  by  their  comrade's  fall.  Then  he 
braced  his  knees  firmly  against  either  side  of  the  deep 
crenelle  till  his  body  formed  a  sort  of  arc-boutant  and 
thrust  forward  with  his  whole  strength.  The  strain  was 
so  great  that  one  might  have  seen  the  brawny  muscles 
start  out  under  the  cuir-bouilli  covering  the  back  of  his 
legs  and  thighs ;  but,  little  by  little,  the  ladder  began  to 
yield,  till  one  tremendous  jerk  sent  it  headlong  back- 
wards into  the  moat  with  all  its  freight. 

A  sound  betwixt  a  shriek  and  groan  came  up  from  be- 
low, echoed  by  Lanyon's  surly  chuckle  as  he  picked  him- 
self out  of  the  embrasure,  where,  in  that  last  effort  he  had 
fallen  prone;  and  the  assault  was  over.  The  right-hand 
storming-party  were  already  wavering  in  their  attack, 
and  the  disaster  of  their  fellows  turned  wavering  into 
retreat.  All  scrambled  across  the  causeway,  or  struggled 
out  of  the  moat  as  quickly  as  they  might,  leaving  behind 
their  dead  and  wounded.  Even  had  the  trumpets  not 


432          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

sounded  sharply  the  recall,  it  is  more  than  doubtful  if 
Alain  de  Beaumanoir  would  have  found  enow  to  have 
followed  him  in  a  third  essay. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

THE  DREAM. 

ERY  wroth  was  Sir  Olivier  de  Clisson  as  he 
watched  the  failure  of  the  first  assault  though 
he  knew  not  as  yet  the  full  extent  of  the  disas- 
ter, and  he  chafed  yet  more  bitterly  over  the 
second  repulse ;  but  when  he  heard  of  Yvon  de  Lacon- 
net's  miserable  end  and  of  Geoffrey  de  Kerimel's  death, 
his  anger  was  turned  into  a  great  sorrow  for  he  had 
loved  both  of  them  well.  He  smote  upon  his  breast  with 
his  clenched  hand,  as  he  cried  aloud: 

"Now  may  God  pardon  me!  In  that  for  mere  vain- 
glory I  suffered  my  judgment  to  be  overruled ;  and  set  on 
a  needless  hazard  the  lives  of  two  valiant  knights  and 
many  a  good  man-at-arms.  Lo !  here  I  make  vow  that  if 
ever  I  win  back  to  Rennes,  there  shall  be  said  in  the 
cathedral  church  a  hundred  masses  each  for  the  souls  of 
Sir  Yvon  de  Laconnet  and  Sir  Geoffrey  de  Kerimel; 
neither  will  I  put  harness  from  off  my  back  till  they  be 
here  avenged.  It  is  well  we  came  amply  furnished  with 
engines  and  bombards.  We  will  have  yon  cursed  castle, 
if  we  pluck  it  down  stone  by  stone." 

Nevertheless  De  Clisson  first  bade  his  trumpets  sound 
a  parley ;  and  sent  forward  his  own  body  squire  to  pray 
for  leave  to  take  up  their  dead  and  wounded  without  mo- 
lestation. This  was  granted  readily.  When  the  corpses 
were  brought  in,  several  besides  Geoffrey  de  Kerimel's 
bore  the  same  manner  of  death  wound — a  wound  evi- 


434          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

dently  inflicted  by  a  single  downright  blow  that  crushed 
steel  and  bone  together.  And  some  of  the  bluff  Bretons 
glanced  at  each  other  rather  ruefully,  as  they  gathered 
round  to  look  on  the  Free  Companion's  handwriting. 

It  was  but  natural  that  those  withinside  should  triumph 
somewhat  in  their  complete  success,  which  had  been 
achieved  too  at  the  cost  of  not  a  single  life,  but  only  a 
few  sharp  flesh  wounds.  Long  speeches  were  not  in 
Brakespeare's  way  at  any  time.  He  made  no  set  oration 
to  his  garrison,  but  for  each  and  every  one  he  had  a  kindly 
or  cheery  word.  The  rawest  recruit  there — and  some 
there  were  who  had  never  before  seen  a  blow  struck  in 
anger — felt  that  he  had  not  periled  his  life  for  naught  in 
serving  such  a  captain. 

The  rest  of  that  day  passed  quietly  enough.  De  Clisson 
set  all  his  mind  to  the  bringing  up  of  his  battering  train, 
and  to  the  construction  of  those  moveable  penthouses 
called  chatte-feux  which  in  all  regular  sieges  were  then 
employed  to  protect  the  miners  and  pioneers.  For  the  last 
purpose,  he  used  some  of  the  trees  just  felled,  and  beams 
taken  from  some  houses  hard  by,  for  the  country  folk  had 
fled  at  the  first  news  of  the  Breton's  approach,  not  guess- 
ing in  what  humor  they  would  come.  Nevertheless,  De 
Clisson  forbade  his  soldiers  to  plunder  or  treat  any  that 
they  should  meet  otherwise  than  as  friends ;  and  would 
allow  only  such  matters  to  be  taken  as  were  absolutely 
necessary  for  the  sustenance  of  his  troops  or  the  require- 
ments of  his  engineers.  Night  fell  before  all  things  were 
in  order — it  was  slow  and  toilsome  work  dragging  up 
bombard,  trebuchet,  and  mangonel  over  the  steep,  rocky 
ground.  So  both  besiegers  and  besieged  lay  quiet  till  the 
morning. 

When  it  was  barely  light  the  siege  opened  in  earnest 
and  soon  it  became  evident  on  which  side  lay  the  ad- 
vantage. Setting  aside  their  bombards,  the  French  had 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  435 

brought  with  them  engines  infinitely  more  powerful  than 
any  to  be  found  at  Hacquemont ;  some  of  these  last  were 
of  very  antique  make,  and  others  had  been  hastily  con- 
structed of  unseasoned  wood  though  with  no  mean  skill. 
So  the  besiegers  were  enabled  to  do  infinite  damage,  keep- 
ing just  without  the  range  of  the  missiles  from  within. 
De  Clisson  had  great  skill  and  practise  in  this  line  of  war- 
fare. Instead  of  dividing  his  battering  train  and  attacking 
at  divers  points,  he  brought  its  full  force  to  bear  at  once, 
on  one — the  weakest  point — that  where  the  fruitless  as- 
sault had  been  made,  for  there  the  plateau  was  broadest 
and  afforded  most  space  for  the  working  of  his  engines, 
and  there  was  the  longest  space  of  curtain-wall  betwixt 
the  barbican  and  the  nearest  tower. 

The  stone  whereof  Hacquemont  was  built,  though  of 
fairly  durable  quality,  was  neither  granite  nor  limestone, 
and  had  waxed  rotten  under  the  rain  and  frost  and  winds 
of  two  centuries  or  more.  Before  the  bombards  and  other 
artillery  had  played  on  it  for  an  hour,  there  were  shrewd 
gaps  in  the  curtain-wall,  and  more  than  one  of  the  bat- 
tlements had  toppled  down  into  the  moat.  That  same 
moat,  too,  soon  ceased  to  be  an  efficient  defence,  for  the 
chatte-feux  worked  up  slowly  and  surely  to  the  very 
verge,  and  under  their  shelter  worked  the  miners,  filling 
up  the  ditch  before  them,  not  with  a  frail  causeway  of 
fascines,  but  with  solid  earth,  on  which,  if  need  were, 
even  one  of  those  great  siege  towers  called  belfrois  could 
be  rolled  forward  in  safety.  It  was  all  in  vain  that  the 
besieged  bent  trebuchet,  petrary  and  mangonel  against 
those  solid  penthouses,  for  the  heaviest  missiles  harmed 
nothing  worse  than  planks  and  hide;  neither  could  they 
work  their  engines  in  comparative  safety  as  before,  for 
the  fire  of  all  manner  of  artillery  from  without  was  so 
heavy  and  well  directed  that  by  noon  several  of  the  Hac- 


436          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

quemont  men  had  been  slain  outright  and  many  more 
been  sorely  hurt  by  splinters  of  stone. 

Brakespeare  owned  to  himself  at  length  that  his  fol- 
lowers were  risking  life  and  limb  to  little  purpose ;  so  he 
bade  them  get  under  cover.  Thenceforward  the  French 
artillery  played  on  unanswered ;  neither  did  the  miners 
meet  with  any  hindrance  whilst  step  by  step  they  crept 
forward  under  their  chatte-feux,  till  they  reached  the 
castle  wall  itself,  and  fell  to  work  there  with  mattock  and 
pick.  Then  the  fire  from  the  bombards  and  battering  en- 
gines ceased,  perforce,  for  there  was  danger  of  hurting 
their  own  men — either  by  the  rebound  of  missiles,  or  by  a 
shot  leveled  too  low.  They  were  not  suffered  long  to 
work  in  peace.  Instantly  that  there  was  respite  from  the 
French  artillery,  the  garrison  gathered  to  their  posts 
again ;  and  soon  a  huge  cantle  of  the  battlements,  already 
loosened  by  the  enemy's  fire,  thundered  down  on  the  top 
of  the  largest  chatte-feux.  The  solid  planks  and  beams 
cracked  like  straws  under  the  weight,  and  scarce  one  of 
the  miners  thereunder  escaped  without  maiming  or  mortal 
hurt.  Quick  lime,  and  blazing  pitch  too,  came  pouring 
down  amain,  so  that  the  penthouses  were  often  in  a  blaze, 
which  could  not  be  extinguished,  without  running  the 
gauntlet  of  the  arbalests  and  mangonels  ranged  along  the 
walls. 

Nevertheless,  the  French  worked  on  stubbornly,  and  by 
sundown,  by  one  means  or  another,  there  was  a  breach 
effected  in  the  curtain-wall,  nearly,  if  not  quite,  prac- 
ticable. Then  De  Clisson  sounded  the  recall.  He  knew 
that,  sooner  or  later,  the  game  must  be  in  his  own  hands 
and  he  chose — having  made  one  false  move  already — to 
win  it  now  by  rule.  He  withdrew  his  chatte-feux — in- 
deed they  were  so  shattered  and  charred  as  to  be  of  little 
further  service — and  returned  to  his  encampment,  leaving 
only  on  the  plateau  sufficient  force  to  guard  his  battering- 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  437 

train  from  any  chance  of  sally.  He  bade  his  troops  rest 
and  refresh  themselves  as  best  they  might,  for  there 
would  be  sharp  work  to  do  on  the  morrow.  But  he  him- 
self, according  to  his  vow,  ate  and  drank  in  his  helmet  and 
lay  down  in  full  harness. 

The  temper  of  the  besieged  was,  as  might  be  imagined, 
very  different  from  what  it  had  been  on  the  evening  be- 
fore. There  had  been  no  brisk  hand-to-hand  work  to 
warm  their  blood ;  only  the  same  wearisome  roar  and 
whistle  of  the  artillery  without ;  the  same  crash  and  crum- 
ble of  stone  around  their  ears ;  the  same  rattle  of  pick 
and  mattock  under  their  feet.  Many  a  man  there  thought 
within  himself  that  night  that  they  were  indeed  fighting 
utterly  without  hope ;  yet  never  an  one  murmured  or 
lookved  sad  or  sullenly  on  his  captain  when  he  came 
amongst  them ;  and  never  a  man,  unless  sorely  hurt, 
flinched  from  his  due  share  of  watch  and  ward.  It  was 
very  late  when  Sir  Ralph  Brakespeare  and  Lanyon  en- 
countered in  the  courtyard,  near  the  doorway  of  the  keep. 

"Follow  me  up  hither,  Will" — the  knight  said.  "I 
bade  them  bring  up  a  stroup  of  Auxerre,  and  any  viands 
that  are  to  hand,  into  the  presence-chamber.  I  have  eaten 
nought  save  a  manchet  to-day ;  and  thou,  I  wot,  hast 
scarce  fared  better.  Starving  is  sheer  folly  with  such 
work  as  we  have  before  us  to-morrow." 

The  esquire  followed,  seemingly  nothing  loath ;  and 
they  found  both  wme  and  meat  set  out  above. 

"Sit  thou  down  over  against  me" — Ralph  said.  Then, 
seeing  the  other  hesitated,  he  smiled — "Nay,  the  time  is 
something  short  for  ceremony;  beside,  thou  and  I  have 
eaten  and  drunken  together  some  few  times,  since  we 
emptied  thy  wallet  by  the  spring  under  Westerham 
down." 

Lanyon  complied  without  more  ado;  and  there  was 


438  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

silence,  whilst  the  two  made  play  with  cup  and  platter, 
like  the  valiant  trenchermen  they  were. 

"How  old  art  thou,  Will  ?" — the  knight  asked  at  length, 
suddenly. 

The  esquire  looked  up  with  rather  a  puzzled  expression. 

"Good  faith,  my  lord,  'tis  some  time  since  I  cared  to 
keep  just  account  of  my  years ;  yet  I  should  reckon  them 
two  or  three  over  fifty." 

"Ah;  art  thou  so  much  mine  elder?" — Ralph  replied — 
"truly  I  had  not  thought  it.  Well :  each  of  us  in  our  fifty 
years,  more  or  less,  have  had  a  busy  time — if  not  a  blithe 
— busier  I  wot,  than  haps  to  most  who  die  at  four-score 
and  ten." 

"Yea  so,  my  lord" — the  esquire  assented — "even  if  we 
have  done  now  with  both  work  and  play.  Howbeit  I 
see  not  why  this  should  be  so ;  unless  ye  be  still  resolved 
to  surrender  on  no  terms,  how  fair  so  ever." 

The  knight  shook  his  head. 

"It  would  matter  little" — he  said — "whether  I  changed 
my  purpose  or  no.  Thou  and  I  will  never  more  ride 
forth  together.  This  I  know  of  a  surety." 

Rising,  he  came  round  till  he  stood  behind  Lanyon's 
chair  and  began  to  speak,  resting  one  hand  on  the  other's 
shoulder. 

"I  am  not  given  to  superstition  and  I  hold  the  reading 
of  dreams  to  be  an  old  wife's  trade ;  nevertheless  I  am 
assured  that  I  have  gotten  my  warning.  Yester-night  I 
lay  down  as  thou  knowest,  in  the  middle  watch,  and  slept 
presently,  after  the  brisk  day's  work.  Then  I  dreamed 
this  dream. 

"I  walked  my  rounds,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  on  the  walls 
yonder — at  what  hour  I  cannot  say.  It  surely  was  not 
night  for  the  light  of  the  Frenchman's  camp  fires  glim- 
mered all  palely;  yet  never,  even  under  storm,  have  I 
seen  the  day  so  murkily  overcast.  Moreover,  the  air  was 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  439 

so  heavy  that  I  felt  choking  in  my  bascinet  and  was  fain 
to  lay  it  by.  As  I  walked  on  thus,  bareheaded  and  came 
to  the  north-west  battlements — whereof  scarce  one  is  now 
upstanding — there  advanced  to  meet  me,  one  whom  I 
saw  instantly  to  be  none  of  our  own  sentinels.  It  was  a 
knight  in  fair  rich  armor,  wearing  a  crested  helmet,  with 
its  vizor  down,  and  a  surcoat  much  longer  than  those  now 
in  fashion.  I  challenged  as  he  drew  near,  demanding  to 
be  informed  of  his  name,  and  whether  he  came  as  friend 
or  foe.  He  answered  in  a  low  voice,  but  marvelously 
clear — 

"  'We  are  not  strangers  altogether  though  we  met  but 
once,  and  that  long  time  ago.  When  thou  hast  looked  on 
my  face  thou  wilt  judge  in  what  guise  I  come/ 

"As  he  raised  his  vizor  I  drew  back  in  a  great  wonder, 
and — I  will  confess  it — in  some  fear.  Truly  I  had  looked 
on  that  face  before ;  ay,  Will,  and  so  hast  thou.  It  was 
on  the  evening  when,  up  yonder  among  the  dunes,  I  ran 
my  first  course  with  grinded  spears.  It  was  Loys  de 
Chastelnaye ;  and  no  other.  As  we  stood  together  in  the 
dusky  light,  I  saw  the  gold  chevrons  glimmer  on  his 
surcoat.  I  knew  it  was  a  spirit  I  was  talking  with;  yet 
I  felt  fear  no  longer. 

"  'Good  my  lord' — I  said — 'I  trust  well  ye  come  not 
as  mine  enemy  for  I  wot  of  no  reason  why  there  should 
still  be  feud  betwixt  us.  In  fair  fight  ye  were  sped  much 
to  my  sorrow ;  neither  have  I  since  willingly  wrought 
aught  against  the  peace  of  you  or  yours.' 

"He  smiled  upon  me — even  as  he  smiled  on  that  same 
evening  when  we  washed  the  blood  from  his  lips  and 
gave  him  to  drink  of  water. 

'  'Thou  hast  rightly  judged' — he  answered.  'In  all 
amity  I  am  here  to  render  thee  one  good  office  in  payment 
for  many.  For,  had  I  lived  I  could  not  have  served  this 
house  of  Hacquemont  so  wightly  as  thou  hast  done ;  and 


440          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

well  them  knowest  wherefore  I  love  all  who  bear  that 
name.  Lo !  now,  I  warn  thee  that  within  three  days  at 
the  farthest,  thou  wilt  be  even  as  I.  Wherefore  make  thy 
peace  with  God  as  best  thou  canst ;  and  fear  not.  There 
hath  been  much  intercession  made  for  thee  of  late  by  one 
whose  prayers  may  something  avail/ 

"Even  whilst  he  spake  the  dusk  behind  him  seemed  to 
lighten ;  and  though  I  saw  none  approach,  I  was  'ware 
of  a  woman  in  bright  white  robes,  standing  close  beside 
us.  I  knew  it  was  the  demoiselle  Marguerite  before  she 
lifted  her  veil  and  before  I  heard  her  voice.  Will,  thou 
mindest  how  rarely  sweet  it  was  long  ago.  It  hath  seven- 
fold the  music  now.  Thus  she  bespoke  me : 

"  'Yea  I  also  say — "Fear  not."  For  every  ill  that  bur- 
deneth  thy  soul  since  my  cross  was  plucked  from  thy 
neck,  thou  hast,  in  one  shape  or  other,  done  penance ;  and 
within  these  days  past — for  as  much  as  under  sharp  trial, 
thy  heart  waxed  not  hard — thou  hast  won  much  on 
Heaven's  mercy.  Against  the  wrong  thou  may'st  have 
done  to  others,  there  shall  be  set — I  well  trust — that  thou 
hast  wrought  for  the  weal  of  me  and  mine.  I  kissed  thee 
once  in  sign  of  friendship.  Lo !  now,  here  in  my  dear 
lord's  presence,  I  kiss  thee  as  a  sister — lovingly/ 

"With  a  right  joyful  heart  I  swear  to  thee,  I  knelt 
down  before  her,  and  she  laid  her  lips  here  on  my  brow ; 
but  they  felt  so  deadly  cold,  that  I  started  and  awoke." 

The  esquire  had  listened,  sitting  stock  still,  and,  when 
he  spoke,  after  a  minute  or  two,  he  neither  turned  his 
head  nor  looked  up. 

"And,  my  lord,  in  this  your  dream  was  there  no  word 
of  me?" 

"I  have  told  thee  all" — Brakespeare  replied — "letter  for 
letter,  and  well  I  wis  I  have  forgotten  naught." 

Lanyon  glanced  up  in  his  master's  face  with  a  quaint 
humor  on  his  own. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  441 

"Truly,  I  was  over-bold" — he  grumbled — "to  think 
that  knight  or  highborn  dame,  whether  in  flesh  or  spirit, 
would  concern  themselves  greatly  as  to  what  would  be- 
fall a  battered  old  routier.  Under  your  leave,  I  will 
prophesy  for  mine  own  self.  Your  worship  may  remem- 
ber certain  words  of  mine  when  your  hand  rested  on  my 
shoulder, — even  as  to-day — a  while  ago :  only  that  we 
were  far  out  in  the  deep  sea.  'Whether  ye  sink  or  swim' 
— I  said — 'I  am  minded  to  keep  your  company.'  So  say 
I  now.  Which  founders  first  is  but  small  matter." 

Just  then  the  door  at  the  lower  end  of  the  presence- 
chamber  opened,  and  Gualtier  De  Marsan  came  in  to  in- 
quire his  lord's  further  orders  for  the  night.  Ralph 
looked  kindly  on  the  esquire  and  half  pityingly  too,  for 
the  other's  face  was  very  wan  and  weary. 

"I  have  no  more  work  for  thee  to-night.  De  Clisson  is 
too  wary  a  captain  to  attempt  the  breach  darkling ;  thus 
we  must  needs  have  rest  to  dawn.  I  am  minded  to  take 
repose ;  and  I  counsel  thee,  Gualtier,  to  do  likewise.  Thy 
strength  is  somewhat  minished  by  sickness ;  and  I  fear  me 
it  hath  been  overtaxed  already.  Trust  me,  I  was  not  so 
busy,  but  that  I  marked  how  gallantly  thou  didst  bear  thy- 
self whilst  bullhead  here" — he  smote  Lanyon  on  the 
shoulder — "played  his  old  sleight  with  the  scaling-lad- 
der. So  rest  you  well  while  you  may." 

There  was  an  eager,  wistful  look  in  De  Marsan's  eyes, 
and  it  seemed  as  though  he  would  have  spoken ;  but  if 
he  had  any  such  thought,  the  presence  of  the  other 
esquire  restrained  him.  With  a  low  obeisance  he  turned 
and  left  the  presence-chamber. 

That  interruption,  brief  as  it  was,  had  broken  the  thread 
of  the  previous  discourse  and  the  knight  and  esquire  spoke 
no  more  together,  save  on  mere  matters  of  duty,  that 
night.  Each  understood  the  other  thoroughly  well  and 
was  content  to  let  things  bide, 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

THE   STORM. 

HE  chapellan  of  Hacquemont  was  still  at  his 
post.  It  had  been  at  first  intended  that  he 
should  go  forth  with  Odille  and  her  escort, 
but  the  old  priest  prayed  so  earnestly  to  be  suf- 
fered to  remain  that  he  at  last  prevailed ;  indeed  it  was 
not  likely — unless  by  some  unlucky  accident — that  harm 
would  befall  him.  Whilst  it  was  yet  dark  Ralph  con- 
fessed himself  and  heard  mass  in  the  castle  chapel.  Many 
in  the  garrison,  besides  Lanyon  and  De  Marsan,  did  like- 
wise; albeit  one  of  the  spearmen  who  had  come  from 
over  Alps  was  heard  to  mutter  discontentedly  in  his 
beard — "that  their  captain's  brains  must  be  woolgather- 
ing. In  the  merry  old  days  he  would  have  found  time 
for  no  such  mummeries."  But  this  was  not  altogether 
so.  The  Free  Companion  from  boyhood  upwards  had 
ever  been  rather  a  foe  than  a  friend  to  frock  and  cowl ; 
he  had  once  lain  actually  under  the  Church's  ban,  and  for 
many  years  had  been  something  more  than  irregular  in 
observance  of  devotion ;  but  he  had  never  thought  blas- 
phemously or  even  lightly  in  his  heart  of  the  faith  of 
his  forefathers;  and  now,  looking  Death  calmly  in  the 
face,  he  was  minded  to  meet  it,  not  like  a  pagan,  but  like 
a  chrisom,  though  sinful  man. 

The  breach  in  the  north-western  walls  was,  as  has  been 
aforesaid,  nearly,  if  not  quite,  practicable,  when  on  the 
previous  evening  the  French  artillery  slackened  fire ;  and 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  443 

during  the  night,  the  besieged  made  no  attempt  to  repair 
it.  Sir  Ralph  Brakespeare  knew  better  than  to  exhaust 
his  men's  strength  in  fruitless  toil.  Even  if  hewn  stones 
and  skilled  masons  had  been  at  hand  their  work  would 
not  have  stood  an  hour  when  the  bombards  and  great  bat- 
tering engines  were  again  brought  to  bear  thereon.  So 
all  preparations  against  assault  were  made  withinside  the 
breach,  out  of  sight  of  the  besiegers. 

Soon  after  dawn  the  French  were  astir,  but  contrary  to 
the  expectations  of  all  in  Hacquemont,  no  present  attempt 
was  made  to  storm.  The  night  had  brought  counsel  to 
Olivier  de  Clisson ;  and  he  was  little  likely  now  to  be  led 
into  error — either  by  his  own  impatience,  or  the  rashness 
of  others.  More  lives  had  been  lost  already  before  this 
worthless  fortress  than  had  been  spent  in  the  capture  of 
strong  and  wealthy  towns ;  and  the  Breton  leader  deter- 
mined within  himself  that  he  would  use  to  the  uttermost 
all  his  mechanical  advantages,  rather  than  shed  another 
drop  of  blood  in  hairbrained  emprize.  So  once  again  the 
huge  battering  engines  began  to  play,  all  directed  at  one 
spot — the  face  of  the  breach.  The  missiles  were  so  con- 
centrated and  so  deftly  aimed,  that  the  gap  was  not 
greatly  widened,  but  the  heaps  of  disjointed  masonry 
grew  lower  and  flatter  till  they  became  almost  level — 
literally  pounded  to  powder  under  the  pitiless  fire — and 
the  ascent  from  without  seemed  hardly  more  difficult  and 
steep  than  that  of  a  rough  mountain  road ;  or,  at  the 
worst,  the  dry  bed  of  a  mountain  torrent. 

About  ten  of  the  clock,  De  Clisson  owned  to  himself 
that  nought  could  be  gained  by  further  delay  so  he  bade 
his  artillery  cease  and  all  things  be  made  ready  for  assault. 
Hitherto  the  garrison  had  kept  carefully  under  cover — 
some  in  the  keep  itself,  some  in  the  towers  on  either  side 
of  the  north-west  curtain-wall,  in  the  which,  though  some- 
what shaken  and  damaged,  there  was  still  found  sufficient 


444          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

shelter — but  the  instant  the  fire  of  the  enemy's  artillery 
abated,  a  trumpet  within  the  castle  sounded  the  "assem- 
bly." The  Free  Companion  knew  right  well  what  that 
lull  and  stillness  after  the  tempest  portended,  and  mus- 
tered his  men  instantly  at  the  breach. 

The  time  was  so  short  and  the  breach  so  open  that  little 
could  be  done  to  hinder  the  advance  of  the  stormers ;  yet 
something  the  garrison  attempted  by  their  leader's  orders 
— strewing  here  and  there  planks  slippery  with  oil ;  and 
driving  into  every  available  crevice  sharpened  stakes  or 
truncheons  of  lances,  so  as  to  make  a  kind  of  rude  stock- 
ade. Throughout  the  siege  the  Red  Cross  of  St.  George 
had  floated  from  the  keep,  but  now,  on  either  of  the  two 
towers  flanking  the  breach,  was  planted  a  pennon.  On 
the  one  was  blazoned  a  rouge  dragon,  the  device  of  Hac- 
quemont ;  the  other — it  had  not  been  aired  for  many  a 
day — bore  the  device  of  two  splintered  lances. 

The  French  advanced  eight  abreast — their  order  resem- 
bling that  of  a  modern  column  of  sub-divisions — shouting 
the  war-cries  of  their  different  leaders.  In  the  front  rank 
marched  Sir  Alain  de  Beaumanoir,  who  claimed  that 
honor  in  right  of  having  been  forbidden  to  try  his  fortune 
in  the  first  assault.  Next  to  him  came  Sir  Tristan  de  la 
Roye,  a  very  valiant  Breton  knight,  who,  in  the  last 
campaigns  under  the  Constable,  had  acquired  great  re- 
nown. Sir  Olivier  de  Clisson  himself  was  a  little  to  the 
rearward.  All  the  withinside  of  the  breach  was  lined 
with  armed  men ;  how  deep  they  stood  could  not  be  dis- 
cerned from  without.  In  the  centre  of  these  stood  Sir 
Ralph  Brakespeare,  swaying  the  mace  that  had  done  such 
terrible  service  on  the  first  day  of  the  siege;  at  either 
shoulder  were  his  two  esquires. 

The  ill-fortune  of  his  brothers-in-arms  seemed  to  cling 
to  Alain  de  Beaumanoir.  He  and  his  next  followers  were 
much  injured  by  the  slippery  planks  and  sharp  truncheons 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  445 

of  the  stockade ,  and.  whilst  the  knight  recovered  himself 
from  a'stumble,  a  stone,  hurled  from  the  battlements  above 
struck  him  down  with*"  a  severe,  though  not  a  mortal 
wound.  But  Tristan  de  la  Roye  and  the  rest  pressed  on 
undismayed,  sparing  neither  themselves  nor  their  fallen 
comrades,  whom  they  pushed  aside  or  trampled  on  rudely. 
The  stalces  were  all  soon  broken ;  and  the  oiled  planks 
grew  rough  with  blood  and  dust.  So  ere  long,  besiegers 
and  besieged  came  fairly  hand  to  hand. 

The  last  named  were  helped  by  firmer  footing  and  vant- 
age of  ground,  for  the  upward  slope  of  the  ruins  was  still 
somewhat  steep  ;  and  at  the  crown  of  the  breach,  there  was 
a  kind  of  rampart  of  disjointed  stones  and  fragments  of 
masonry — not  much  more  than  knee  high,  but  still  no 
light  impediment  with  a  determined  enemy  beyond.  Then 
there  ensued  a  combat  both  obstinate  and  cruel.  Spears 
were  almost  useless  in  the  close  mellay,  and  all  the  work 
was  done  with  mace,  glaive  and  gisarme.  Mere  weight 
of  numbers  in  their  rear  would  have  kept  the  foremost 
assailants  from  retreating  had  they  been  so  minded ;  but 
the  stubborn  Breton  blood  was  fairly  roused ;  never  a 
man  of  them  flinched,  though  one  after  another  dropped 
in  his  tracks  and  scarce  a  foot  of  ground  was  gained. 

If  from  without  the  shouts  went  up  lustily  of  "Clisson ! 
Clisson!"  and  "St.  Yves  Bretagne!"  no  less  lustily  rang 
the  answer  from  within — "Hacquemont!  Hacquemont! 
St.  George  Guienne !"  Though  the  defenders  too  were 
falling  fast  the  gaps  were  filled  as  soon  as  made.  In 
that  front  rank  Ralph  Brakespeare  and  his  two  esquires — 
all  the  three  as  yet  unhurt — bore  up  the  brunt  of  the 
battle.  Sir  Tristan  de  la  Roye  himself  was  down,  chok- 
ing in  his  blood — a  dexterous  stroke,  dealt  by  Gualtier  de 
Marsan,  had  cloven  through  his  camail,  just  beneath  the 
fastening  of  his  helmet — and  the  press  was  so  great  that 
his  esquires  could  not  win  for  their  lord  breathing-space, 


446          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

or  even  drag  him  from  under  trampling  feet.  Even 
whilst  the  din  was  at  its  height,  a  clear  imperious  voice 
made  itself  heard  ever  and  anon — 

"Bretagne!  Bretagne!  Hardis  mes  gars;  point  ne  tre- 
buchez!" 

And  that  voice  came,  nearer  and  nearer,  till  Olivier  de 
Clisson  himself  stood  in  the  forefront  of  his  men,  almost 
within  arm's-length  of  Ralph  Brakespeare. 

Then  there  came  a  lull  in  the  fray,  for,  as  though  by 
tacit  consent  the  meaner  combatants  on  either  side  drew 
back  a  little — most  lowering  their  weapons — as  those  two 
famous  champions  were  set  face  to  face.  So  far  as  could 
be  judged  through  their  heavy  plate  armor,  they  seemed 
very  fairly  matched.  The  Breton  might  have  been  some 
two  inches  lower  in  stature,  but  his  breadth  of  shoulder 
and  depth  of  chest  were  marvelous,  and  even  on  that 
unsteady  footing — every  stone  was  slippery  now  with 
blood — his  brawny  limbs  bore  him  up  like  a  tower.  Save 
during  the  brief  parley  from  the  barbican  those  two  had 
never  met,  and  the  vizors  of  both  were  closely  locked  now. 
Nevertheless  through  instinct,  or  that  freemasonry  which 
exists  only  amongst  men  of  their  peculiar  stamp,  each 
guessed  at  once  to  whom  he  was  opposed,  and  made  him- 
self ready  accordingly. 

Sir  Olivier  de  Clisson  carried  only  his  great  epce 
d'armes.  Seeing  this,  the  Free  Companion  cast  down 
beside  him  his  dripping  mace,  and  bared  his  own  blade. 
The  Breton  bowed  his  head  as  if  acknowledging  a  cour- 
tesy ;  then — "A  nous  deux" — he  said  between  his  teeth ; 
and  the  duel  began. 

There  was  no  fear  of  foul  play  from  the  followers  of 
either  champion.  The  rules  of  chivalry  were  so  well 
understood  and  so  rigidly  enforced  in  those  days  that  the 
meanest  who  rode  under  knight's  pennon  knew  better 
than  to  infringe  them.  The  strength  and  skill  of  the  com- 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  447 

batants  were  so  evenly  poised  and  both  were  such  rare 
masters  of  their  weapon  that  for  a  while  no  great  dam- 
age was  done.  Blows,  that  seemed  as  if  they  must  needs 
have  been  deadly  were  either  warded  altogether  or  so 
turned  that  they  fell  slantwise ;  but,  as  the  fierce  delight 
of  battle  overmastered  them,  they  grew  less  careful  to 
guard ,  and  more  eager  to  strike.  Red  drops  oozed 
through  two  or  three  gaps  in  De  Clisson's  armor  of  proof ; 
and  his  blade  had  bitten  deep  more  than  once  through 
the  joints  of  the  other's  Milan  harness.  Still  they  smote 
on  without  let  or  stay,  till  it  was  almost  a  miracle  how 
mortal  sinews  could  support  such  a  strain,  unrefreshed 
by  a  second's  breathing  space.  None  that  looked  on  that 
passage  of  arms  had  ever  seen  the  like,  and  De  Qisson 
himself  in  after  days,  was  wont  to  quote  as  the  most  nota- 
ble feat  of  his  famous  life,  his  having  held  his  own  so 
long. 

It  was  ended  at  length  in  this  wise.  The  Breton,  in 
fetching  a  desperate  stroke,  over-reached  himself,  and 
stumbled  slightly  forward;  before  he  could  recover  him- 
self, the  Free  Companion's  blade  descended  in  full  swing 
on  the  crest  of  the  other's  helmet.  The  edge  was  sorely 
notched  and  blunted ;  nevertheless  it  clove  sheer  through 
the  outer  plate,  and  crushed  the  steel  coiffe  down  on  the 
brain-pan.  Olivier  De  Clisson  dropped  as  one  dead — 
blood  streaming  from  nose  and  mouth  through  his  vizor 
bars. 

The  Free  Companion  made  no  attempt  to  follow  up  his 
victory.  He  dropped  his  epee  d'armes — in  that  last  blow 
it  had  been  so  injured  as  to  be  well-nigh  useless — and 
catching  up  his  mace  stood  ready  for  the  attack.  How- 
beit  none  of  the  assailants  offered  to  advance,  till  two 
Breton  squires  had  raised  their  lord's  body  from  the  spot 
to  which  it  had  rolled  and  borne  it  to  the  rear.  It  was  a 
stricken  hour  before  the  remedies  of  the  camp-leech  con- 


448         THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

quered  the  obstinate  swoon ;  and  it  was  days  before  the 
swimming  left  Olivier  de  Clisson's  brain,  or  that  his  hand 
was  steady  enough  to  couch  lance. 

That  the  Bretons  were  for  the  moment  discomfited  by 
their  captain's  fall  may  not  be  doubted,  but  the  panic 
lasted  not  long;  nor  was  there  any  lack  of  leaders.  The 
attack  was  renewed  more  savagely  than  ever,  as  if  another 
disgrace  were  to  be  atoned  for.  Mortal  thews  and  sinews 
are  not  iron  and  stone,  and  bulwarks  of  bolted  granite  go 
down  often  enough  before  the  incessant  lashing  of  the 
surge.  It  was  only  natural  that  the  small  defending  force 
should  at  length  be  thrust  back  by  the  mere  weight  of  the 
living  torrent  hurled  against  their  front.  Every  inch 
of  ground  cost  lives ;  yet  step  by  step  the  Hacquemont 
men  were  borne  back  from  the  breach  into  the  courtyard 
in  the  midst  of  which  rose  the  keep. 

Just  then,  Ralph  drew  back  a  pace  or  two  out  of  the 
mellay,  and  said  some  words  in  an  undertone  to  one  of  his 
Italian  veterans  who  had  been  fighting  close  to  his  shoul- 
der. When  the  tide  of  battle  fairly  turned  and  the  day 
looked  utterly  desperate,  the  five  sondards  had  thrust  for- 
ward and  closed  round  their  captain ;  just  as  you  may  see 
the  old  hounds  pressing  to  the  front  when  the  pack 
breaks  from  scent  to  view.  The  routier  nodded  his  head 
without  speaking;  and,  forcing  his  way  backward 
through  the  press,  entered  the  tower  on  the  right. 
Thence,  in  a  minute  or  so,  he  emerged,  carrying  Brake- 
speare's  own  pennon  with  which  he  disappeared  into  the 
keep. 

When  the  space  grew  broader — so  that  the  assailants 
could  bring  their  weight  and  numbers  better  to  bear — it 
soon  became  apparent  how  fearfully  the  garrison  was 
overmatched.  But  they  were  too  well  trained,  and  too 
ably  manoeuvred  to  make  a  disorderly  retreat ;  and  still 
presented  so  strong  a  front  that  there  was  no  chance  of 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  449 

their  being  surrounded  as  they  fell  back  slowly  on  the 
open  doorway  of  their  last  stronghold.  The  Bretons 
pressed  on  more  and  more  furiously,  incited  partly  by  the 
confidence  of  success,  partly  by  the  desire  of  cutting  off 
their  enemies  from  the  keep,  or,  at  least,  of  entering  with 
them  pellmell,  for  if  the  door  were  once  shut  and  barred 
there  would  still  remain  the  storming  of  the  steep,  narrow 
stair.  Nevertheless  the  men  of  Hacquemont  made  good 
their  retreat,  disappearing  one  after  another  through  the 
low  dark  arch,  till  Brakespeare  himself,  who  was  hinder- 
most  of  all,  stood  within  a  fathom  of  the  threshold. 

No — not  quite  the  hindermost. 

Ralph  had  cleared  a  half-circle  in  front  with  a  moulinet 
of  his  terrible  weapon,  and  his  foot  was  planted  for  the 
backward  spring  that  would  have  carried  him  within  the 
doorway,  when  he  saw  something  that  changed  his  pur- 
pose. Throughout  the  mellay — both  at  the  breach  and  in 
the  courtyard — Lanyon  had  been  side  by  side  with  his 
lord,  fighting  in  his  own  dogged  fashion  and  taking  no 
heed  of  divers  flesh  wounds  and  bruises  that  would  have 
gone  near  to  disable  many.  He  was  well  aware  that  it 
behoved  to  gain  a  moment's  leisure  to  bar  the  door  in  the 
face  of  the  assailants ;  so,  when  the  Bretons  made  their 
last  fierce  charge,  he  hurled  himself  right  in  the  teeth 
of  their  left  flank,  knowing  that  oftentimes  the  sudden 
onslaught,  even  of  a  single  man,  will  for  a  second  or  two 
hold  several  in  check.  He  never  doubted  but  he  should 
be  able  to  fight  his  way  back  over  the  brief  space  that 
divided  him  from  the  keep  and  this,  perchance,  he  might 
have  done,  had  not  one  of  his  sollerets  slipped  on  a  stone, 
so  that  he  fell  forward  on  his  face  right  under  the  feet 
of  his  enemies.  The  esquire's  prowess  that  day  had  made 
him  a  marked  man.  He  was  scarcely  down  when  some 
half-dozen  were  upon  him,  hacking  and  hewing  with 


4so          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

glaive  and  battleaxe,  like  woodmen  riving  the  trunk  and 
limbs  of  a  tough  felled  oak. 

This  was  the  sight  that  checked  the  Free  Companion 
in  the  act  of  his  backward  spring. 

The  passions  of  those  who,  from  youth  upward  have 
made  fighting  their  trade  are  not  easily  stirred  by  mere 
change  of  blows,  howsoever  hard ;  up  to  this  time — save 
perchance,  for  a  brief  space  during  his  combat  with  De 
Clisson — Ralph  had  kept  himself  perfectly  calm  and  cool. 
But  now  the  blood  surged  hotly  through  his  veins  and 
mounted  to  his  eyes.  Only  once  before  in  all  his  life  had 
the  real  Berserkyr  fit  possessed  him ;  and  then  as  now, 
it  was  at  Hacquemont.  He  gnashed  his  teeth  as  he  swore 
that,  dead  or  alive,  his  old  comrade  should  be  with  him  to 
the  last,  and  plunged  headlong  into  the  press,  striking 
such  blows  that  made  all  that  he  had  heretofore  dealt 
seem  but  boy's-play ;  and  shouting  the  war-cry — disused 
now  for  many  a  day — "Brakespeare  !  Brakespeare !" 

Some  two  or  three  of  the  Bretons — brained  before  they 
were  well  aware — fell  athwart  Lanyon  as  he  lay  prone. 
The  others  recoiled,  fairly  appalled,  crying  out  "Sorcery" 
or  that  "the  fiend  was  among  them."  Before  this  panic 
passed,  the  Free  Companion  had  lifted  his  esquire  in  his 
arms  and  borne  him  into  the  tower,  the  door  of  which 
was  instantly  barred  behind  him. 

Without  staggering  or  faltering,  the  knight  carried  his 
burden  up  into  the  presence-chamber  where  all  who  sur- 
vived the  garrison  were  gathered  together,  and  sat  down 
on  the  ledge  of  the  dais,  supporting  Lanyon's  head  on  his 
knee. 

"Unhelm  him,  one  of  ye — he  must  have  air." 

As  Ralph  spoke  he  threw  back  his  own  vizor.  The 
esquire's  armor  was  hacked  almost  to  fragments ;  there 
was  scarce  a  hand's  breadth  of  body  or  limbs  ungashed ; 
and  one  sword-wound  under  the  left  arm-pit  would  have 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  451 

sufficed  to  let  life  out  had  there  been  none  other.  His 
cheeks  were  too  deeply  tanned  altogether  to  lose  their 
color ;  but  the  brown  was  flecked  and  streaked  with  ashen- 
grey,  and  the  lips  were  already  contracting,  so  that  the 
strong  white  teeth  showed  betwixt.  Nevertheless,  after 
a  minute  or  so,  there  carne  a  stir  in  the  lower  limbs  and 
a  gurgle  in  the  throat;  then  Lanyon  opened  his  eyes. 
Those  eyes  were  not  so  dim  and  hazy,  but  that  they  saw  at 
once  who  leant  over  him,  and  whose  hand  held  his  own 
fast.  For  a  second  the  dying  man's  glance  wandered 
aside,  to  where  his  comrade  stood,  holding  the  black  pen- 
non, once  so  famous  among  the  Free  Lances ;  then  it 
rested  again  on  his  master's  face  and  dwelt  there. 

"Farewell  till  our  next  meeting,  old  friend," — the 
knight  said,  quietly — "and  God  requite  thy  true  service 
better  than  I  have  done." 

Lanyon's  lips  began  to  work;  and  those  who  stood 
by  heard  a  ghastly  semblance  of  the  surly  chuckle,  which 
showed  that,  after  his  own  stolid  fashion,  he  was  relish- 
ing a  jest.  Then  he  gasped  out  these  words,  one  by  one. 

"Messire — Ralph — I — founder — first  —  despite  —  the 
dream." 

The  last  syllables  mingled  with  the  death  rattle.  A  few 
seconds  later,  Brakespeare  loosed  very  gently  the  clasp 
of  the  corpse's  fingers. 

"Draw  him  aside  so  that  he  be  not  trampled  on,"  the 
knight  said,  as  he  rose.  His  face  had  settled  down  again ; 
and  bore  no  sign  of  grief  or  pain,  or  even  of  the  heat  of 
battle.  In  the  same  measured  voice,  in  which  he  had 
once  before  made  brief  oration  to  his  garrison,  he  thus 
bespoke  them : 

"Good  friends  and  followers:  whilst  we  have  brief 
breathing  space — for  the  door  below  will  yield  to  nought 
less  than  engine  or  belier — take  counsel,  I  pray  you,  for 
your  own  safety.  Hardly,  thus  far,  have  ye  stood  at  my 


452          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

back.  I  render  you  hearty  thanks  therefor;  but  I  now 
discharge  each  and  every  one  of  you  from  such  duty — 
nay,  I  earnestly  urge  that  ye  will  risk  your  lives  no 
further.  Too  many  lie  dead  without  there  already;  to 
such  as  remain  the  French  will  surely  show  fair  quarter. 
I  am  under  a  vow  to  fight  here  a  entrance,  but  none  such 
binds  any  of  ye.  Wherefore  I  counsel  you  to  ascend  to 
the  platform  up  yonder  and  make  what  terms  ye  will  for 
your  own  selves  with  them  below,  leaving  me  here  to  do 
as  seemeth  me  good ;  only  let  French  hands,  and  none  of 
yours,  pluck  down  St.  George's  banner.  And  so  shall  ye 
be  free  of  all  shame  or  blood-guiltiness  in  sight  both  of 
God  and  man." 

The  thing  may  sound  incredible  now-a-days,  but  in 
those  times — whether  for  good  or  evil — men  acted  not  by 
our  standard  and  rule.  Amongst  those  who  listened  to 
the  Free  Companion,  there  was  neither  dispute  nor  doubt. 
They  cried  out  with  one  accord — praying  their  captain 
to  forbear  such  words,  for  they  all  were  ready  to  stand  by 
him  to  the  death.  Brakespeare,  as  he  thought,  had  well- 
nigh  done  with  earthly  vanities ;  yet  his  heart  swelled 
with  soldierly  pride  at  this  last  proof  of  his  power  and  his 
cheek  flushed  a  little,  as  he  bowed  his  head  saying  sim- 
ply— 

"It  is  well." 

Then  he  beckoned  to  the  esquire  De  Marsan ;  who,  all 
this  while,  had  stood  somewhat  apart. 

"Reach  me  down,  I  pray  thee" — he  said — "yon  epee 
d'armes  that  hangs  behind  thee  on  the  wall." 

Having  unsheathed  the  weapon,  the  knight  went  on 
speaking : 

"Messire  Gualtier ;  when  on  the  morrow  after  Poitiers, 
Prince  Edward  gave  me  right  to  wear  gold  spurs,  I  was 
a  poorer  man  than  thou  art — ay,  and  nameless  to  boot — 
yet  had  I  not  merited  the  grace  so  well  as  thou  within 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  453 

these  last  days  hast  done.  Kneel  down,  then.  There  is 
much  blood  on  this  hand  of  mine  yet  nought  that  should 
disable  it  from  bestowing  accolade ;  and  for  this  purpose 
I  use  the  sword,  long  worn  worthily  by  Philippe  of  Hac- 
quemont,  thy  good  lord  and  mine." 

Drawing  his  breath  so  hard  that  it  sounded  like  a  sob, 
the  esquire  knelt  reverently  down;  and  Ralph  laid  the 
blade  on  his  shoulder,  saying — 

"Rise,  Sir  Gualtier  de  Marsan.  Be  brave  and  for- 
tunate." 

As  the  new-made  knight  gained  his  feet,  the  eyes  of 
the  two  men  met  in  a  long  steadfast  gaze ;  and  a  great 
weight  was  lifted  from  Gualtier's  soul,  for  he  knew  then 
of  a  surety  that  Odille's  husband  was  aware  of  and  had 
forgiven  all. 

"I  have  one  thing  more  to  do" — the  Free  Companion 
said.  "Bring  hither  my  pennon." 

When  it  was  brought,  he  looked  on  the  bander o  lie 
attentively,  turning  it  over  and  over.  Then  he  wrenched 
it  off  the  staff,  and  tore  it  into  shreds  betwixt  his  strong 
fingers,  as  if  it  had  been  made  of  tissue.  The  bitter  sig- 
nificance of  the  action  escaped  none  who  stood  by,  and 
with  hearts  sad,  if  not  sinking,  they  waited  for  what  was 
to  follow. 

All  this  while  the  besiegers  had  not  been  idle.  When 
the  door  was  first  closed  some  few  smote  on  it  with  mace 
and  curtal-axe ;  but  it  was  too  strongly  plated  to  yield  to 
such  puny  weapons ;  so  they  were  fain  to  wait  for  batter- 
ing-ram. There  was  no  lack  of  such  things  in  their 
camp ;  and  ere  long  there  was  brought  a  beam  of  about 
the  thickness  of  a  small  ship's-mast,  heavily  shod  with 
iron,  and  furnished  throughout  its  length  with  rope 
beckets.  A  score  of  archers,  standing  ten  on  either  side, 
laid  hold  of  these,  and  with  their  full  strength  swung  the 
ram  against  the  door.  The  first  blow  fell  just  as  the  last 


454          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

shred  of  the  pennon  fluttered  down  at  Brakespeare's  feet, 
and  stroke  followed  stroke,  till  the  door  was  fairly  forced 
from  its  hinges  and  came  clattering  in. 

Now  the  lowermost  stair  of  the  keep  did  not  wind  like 
the  upper  one;  but  came  straight  up  into  the  presence- 
chamber.  Yet  it  was  both  steep  and  narrow ;  so  that  the 
storming  it  could  be  no  light  matter.  But  the  Bretons  had 
waxed  furious  under  repulse,  and  their  leaders  had  spared 
neither  reproaches  nor  gibes  while  they  waited  without. 
If  the  foremost  had  hesitated  to  enter,  they  would  have 
been  thrust  forward  by  their  fellows ;  so  the  stairway  was 
soon  full  and  echoing  with  the  clash  of  steel.  The  assail- 
ants both  within  and  without  the  tower,  shouted  their 
war-cries — aloud;  but  the  defenders  answered  never  a 
word — they  fought  not  the  less  savagely  because  they 
fought  mute.  It  skills  not  to  relate  the  incidents  of  that 
last  passage  of  arms  which  differed  little  from  many  that 
have  gone  before.  It  suffices  to  say  that  after  the  foining 
had  gone  on  for  ten  minutes  or  more,  Ralph  Brakespeare 
and  Gualtier  de  Marsan,  though  both  sorely  wounded, 
still  stood  where  they  had  first  taken  post — on  the  fourth 
step  below  the  stairhead. 

Despite  of  this,  the  event  could  not  long  have  been 
doubtful.  Sir  Guiscard  de  Keroualles,  of  whom  mention 
before  has  been  made,  was  a  very  wary  veteran.  Casting 
his  eyes  around,  as  he  stood  in  the  courtyard,  he  soon 
devised  a  fresh  mode  of  attack.  The  scaling-ladders  that 
were  tall  enough  for  the  battlements,  were  useless  here ; 
but  two  of  these  bound  together,  reached  easily  the  top 
of  the  keep.  Sir  Guiscard  himself  mounted  first,  and 
many  others  followed  unopposed,  till  the  platform  at  the 
summit  was  crowded.  Then  the  Bretons,  who,  by  their 
captain's  order,  had  hitherto  kept  silence,  raised  a  great 
shout,  and  poured  down  the  upper  stairway,  and  through 
the  open  door  at  the  upper  end  of  the  presence-chamber. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  455 

Before  the  Hacqtiemont  men  were  well  aware,  they  found 
themselves  taken  in  the  rear. 

There  was  a  rush  back  from  the  stair-head  instantly. 
Brakespeare  and  De  Marsan,  unsupported  from  behind, 
were  borne  back,  perforce  by  the  mere  weight  in  their 
front;  and  the  mellay  recoiled  to  the  body  of  the  hall. 
This  lasted  not  long ;  the  sturdiest  of  the  garrison  saw 
that  fighting  on  against  such  odds  was  mere  self- 
slaughter;  cries  of  "surrender"  went  up  all  round,  and 
one  after  another  cast  down  his  weapon.  Two  men  only, 
neither  cried  for  quarter,  nor  ceased  to  smite — Brake- 
speare and  De  Marsan.  But  Gaultier  was  weak  with  loss 
of  blood,  and  his  sword-arm  utterly  weary,  so  he  was 
soon  borne  down  and  lay  in  a  swoon  on  the  flagstones. 

Yet  was  not  the  fray  quite  ended,  nor  Hacquemont 
quite  won.  For  in  the  centre  of  the  hall  there  still  was 
turmoil  and  clash  of  steel,  and  medley  of  voices — some 
crying  out  to  "slay,"  and  some,  but  these  were  few  to 
"spare" — and  in  that  mid-eddy  Ralph  Brakespeare's  mace 
still  rose  and  fell.  Twice  he  was  beaten  to  his  knee,  and 
twice  rose  again — hurling  back  his  assailants,  as  a  brave 
bull,  though  a-dying,  shakes  off  the  ban-dogs. 

But,  during  the  second  struggle,  the  fastenings  of  his 
helmet  burst;  and,  when  his  bare  head  rose  again  half  a 
span  above  the  sea  of  helmets,  the  crisp,  grizzled  brown 
hair  was  red-wet.  He  swept  his  left  hand  across  his 
brow — for  the  blood  well  nigh  blinded  him — and  whirled 
his  mace  round  once  more.  His  arm  seemed  not  a  whit 
less  strong  and  dexterous  than  when,  with  one  blow,  it 
brained  Geoffrey  de  Kerimel ;  and  once  again  the  assail- 
ants drew  back  from  its  sweep.  For  a  second  or  two,  the 
Free  Companion  stood  almost  solitary  in  their  midst, 
reared  to  his  full  height,  and  with  a  great  light  in  his 
steadfast  eyes.  It  was  a  strange  sight,  that  struck  most 
there,  either  with  wonder,  pity,  or  fear,  and  something 


456          THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE. 

like  a  hush  ensued ;  but  almost  immediately  this  was 
broken  by  a  hoarse  voice,  crying — 

"Sus  au  sorrier!" 

And  a  savage-looking  archer  stepped  out  of  the  throng 
in  the  knight's  rear  and  smote  on  his  bare  head  with  his 
gisarme. 

Without  a  moan  or  a  struggle,  Ralph  Brakespeare 
pitched  forward — dead  before  his  forehead  touched  the 
flagstones. 

When  De  Clisson  heard  what  had  been  done,  he  was 
very  ill-pleased  thereat.  He  averred  that  he  had  rather, 
than  a  thousand  golden  crowns,  have  taken  the  Free 
Companion  alive  sith  he  had  not  slain  him  with  his  own 
hand.  And  very  rueful  waxed  the  knight's  countenance, 
as  he  looked  at  the  gaps  in  his  muster-roll,  and  counted 
up  the  cost  of  the  siege,  for  the  booty  found  in  Hacque- 
mont  hardly  amounted  to  a  month's  pay  of  a  hundred 
spearmen,  and  the  castle  itself,  as  -a  fortalice,  was  scarce 
worth  the  winning. 

So  De  Clisson  departed,  leaving  behind  a  force  suffi- 
cient to  guard  and  repair  the  place;  and  letting  the  old 
garrison  go  where  they  would — first  binding  them  by  oath 
not  to  bear  arms  against  France.  With  him,  too,  went 
Gualtier  De  Marsan,  but  not  as  a  prisoner,  for  the  new- 
made  knight — having  satisfied  his  honor  and  discharged 
his  duty  as  esquire — was  not  minded  to  persist  in  bear- 
ing arms  against  his  natural  sovereign.  He  became 
liegeman  of  France  again,  and  by  dint  of  good  service 
found  favor  both  with  King  and  Constable. 

When  the  news  of  what  had  been  done  at  Hacquemont 
came  to  Bordeaux,  and  the  ancient  merchant  who  had 
the  packet  in  charge  delivered  to  the  Lady  Odille  her 
husband's  letter,  the  widow's  mourning  for  many  day's 
after  was  real.  It  was  embittered,  too,  by  some  sharp 
twinges  of  remorse ;  for  a  while,  she  thought  that  nothing 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  A  FREE-LANCE.  457 

would  fill  the  void  of  the  great  love  that  she  had  never 
valued  till  now.  Nevertheless,  two  years  later,  when 
Gualtier  de  Marsan  urged  his  suit,  she  listened  readily ; 
and,  during  the  brief  peace  of  Bruges,  they  were  married. 
The  intercession  of  Du  Guesclin  easily  obtained  for 
Odille's  husband  the  investiture  of  all  the  fiefs  of  Hacque- 
mont. 

There,  for  many  years,  those  two  dwelt — very  happy,  in 
a  grave  quiet  way,  for  old  times  were  never  quite  for- 
gotten— and  children  grew  up  around  them,  who  listened 
eagerly  to  the  story  of  the  puissant  champion,  who  once 
saved  Hacquemont  with  his  single  arm,  and  afterwards, 
by  his  desperate  defence,  made  it  famous  through  France. 

Over  Ralph  Brakespeare's  grave  in  the  castle  chapel 
was  laid  a  fair  marble  slab,  whereon  were  graved  a  name, 
a  date,  and  an  escutcheon.  The  escutcheon  bore — not  the 
arms  of  Hacquemont,  but  a  device  better  fitted  to  the  life, 
the  fortunes,  and  the  death  of  the  strong  soldier,  who 
early  in  life  cut  himself  adrift  from  kith  and  kin,  and 
struggled  onward  as  a  nameless  man — the  device  of — 

Two  splintered  lances  crossed  on  a  sable  field. 


THERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY '  FACILITY 


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